Home Is Where You Make It
by Joby87
Summary: Sequel to Home is Where the Heart is. A recent heart transplant survivor, Sam, sick & hunted, struggles to stay alive, battling psychics, demons, and monsters. Meanwhile, Dean encounters trouble while constantly scouring the globe, trying to find his brother before Sam becomes yet another victim in the YED's diabolical plans. Hurt/Sick Sam. Hurt Dean. Lots of action.
1. Recap

**A/N**: Hi again! Remember me? I realize you might be pissed as it's only been a YEAR…and a half, and I'm now –_finally_- starting the sequel. This past year has been one hell of a roller coaster ride that's left little time for writing. But now I find myself able to update.

So without further ado, here it is: the sequel to _**Home is where the Heart is**_. I sincerely hope you enjoy it. Get ready for a whirlwind of an adventure, cuz you're about to embark on one.

**DISCLAIMER**: There will be some fundamental beliefs of the Christian faith touched upon. Note that the material from Christian and/or Catholic doctrine in this story is crafted to a fictional standpoint; therefore it is not to be taken literally. I do not wish to offend anyone, so I apologize in advance if you are.

If you haven't read the prequel, _**spoiler alert**_ as I'm including a recap of it in this segment for those who have, but are in need of a reminder. However, if you simply don't care and anxiously want to begin the story, click to the next chapter. Cheers!

Joby ;p

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**Recap:**

The prequel of this dreadful story to come begins with Dean sitting in a seedy motel room contemplating suicide to save the life of his brother, who had fallen terminally ill with Congestive Heart Failure. By the end of the prologue, Dean had decided that Sam was worth the bullet and deserved a normal life apart from the crappy one they led. He placed the 9mm in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Now usually I like to start off with a harrowing glimpse, a sneak peek if you will, from later on in the story. Let's be clear, I'm not favoring suicide, nor was the event of suicide the main point. The point I was attempting to make was to give an impression to the audience that the events which led to the character's position in the prologue were pretty dire and it left him with that choice. Was I going to kill the guy? Absolutely. But for a purpose.

Remember this is Supernatural. Not real life. Everything inside this story has a reason.

The actual beginning of the story saw Sam at Stanford with his girlfriend Jessica. I wanted to put a spin on a character we knew little of, but who had great importance in Sam's life. Jessica was the jump-start that led Sam back into the life of hunting. He loved her. That much was apparent. So it gave me an angle to work with in introducing the main antagonist of the story: the heart condition. 'Sides by having Sam know about his "condition" prior to Dean picking him up, and because he was so fixated on tracking down "Dad" and Jessica's killer, he failed to mention it to big brother, ultimately leading to a very emotional roller coaster.

Yes, he kept it from Dean in the first few chapters or so. According to the doc, Sam had contracted a virus which led to a certain condition known as Dilated Cardiomyopathy. And if Sam followed specific directions, he could have prevented the condition from worsening and morphing into full-blown heart failure. And what happens? He comes down with heart failure. We learn this in chapter seven from another doctor (yes, there are a variety of doctors in that flick – we're dealing with Medicare Fraud in the U.S., _remember_?) and let's just say Dean is not a happy camper at that point.

Because these events occur within a few months after John's death, Dean is metaphorically at the end of his rope and was going through some deep emotional turmoil (we all remember him in Season 2 when he was a whiny bitch…well, he's even more of a whiny bitch in this one—no offense to you Dean lovers. I love the guy too, but come on, let's face facts: he was a wreck that season. ) Learning that Sam kept a condition like this from him, he – I'll just say it – blows up like a volcano and, after a heated debate with Bobby, storms out.

Like I said, this story was meant to be emotional, sensible or not… and it was, I think.

Bobby remains with Sam for most of this story. And he stayed, attempting to cheer the boy up after Dean dramatically left. Meanwhile, Dean blew off steam by visiting a lake, nearly throwing away the necklace that Sam had given to him one Christmas. At this lake, he also thinks about his father and the message John had left, which aided in the overall cesspool of guilt, betrayal, and rage Dean felt he was trapped in. Still deciding on whether to return back to his family, he went to the "Silver Diner", a small establishment not far from the hospital's premises. There he met Caroline, a waitress, who enacted as his metaphorical "shoulder to cry on" while also being an advice counselor. She didn't tell him what he wanted to hear. She told him what he needed to hear, calling him out that he was fearful of his family's rejection, knowing he was emotionally unstable and as fragile as a porcelain doll. It wasn't true. Sam and Bobby would accept him for who he was; not based on the fact that he may or may not be able to protect them. He felt relieved, albeit a fraction of the weight was lifted. Eventually he did return, and there a whole new battle began.

Inspired to be Sam's idol once more, and self-ordained guardian – as he had at some point realized that the YED was still out there to be hunted –he went to work, establishing a health regime for Sam. Obviously Sam had to combat this disease if they had any chance against YED and his supernatural prodigy. Sam didn't like it, as he, too, carried feelings of despair over his condition. It begins as questionable doubt in Sam's mind that he could still survive, but as the months fly by, and his condition slowly spirals into deterioration, he soon becomes encased in a cocoon of depression.

Depression is a controversial subject, as is suicide. Yes, these are main issues that do come up every once in a while in a medical journal article, especially pertaining to heart failure. They are just two bumps that pop up occasionally in the road to recovery. Some people just lose faith, lose hope that very soon their fight will be over and it will all be for nothing. Sam becomes a victim in this case. His faith wavers when the physician revealed that his heart was in its final stages and he needed a transplant. He struggles with the concept that he may only have days left. He struggles with the decision to be admitted to the hospital, knowing that was the last place he wanted to spend his final days. The doctors were adamant that he be admitted and on twenty-four-seven hour watch. Most patients with heart conditions are usually given a pager and are told to go home and wait to be called. But there was a reason I wanted Sam to be in the hospital –not because I'm a sucker for hospital fics, but there were certain elements that needed to happen in the hospital that were vital to the plot.

At this point in the story, Dean, once more becomes irate at Sam's decision. Dean wants his brother to fight. He can't face the fact that Sam has given up. Like he had mentioned in season 1, episode 21, his family was the only facet in his life that held him together. Having Sam, and now Bobby, around: that was the glue that kept the fragile pieces adhered. Without either one of them, he knew that glue would come undone. Yes, he realized it was selfish, but for the sake of life, he knew that Sam had to fight, to stay with him, to keep his alive. If, and when, Sam died (especially in the show) it wouldn't be long until it was his time. Ah yes, drama.

Luckily, Bobby saves the day and talks Sam out of his current depression. He gives Sam a new vision of what could happen. He may die. He may not. That was the chance he had to take. Of course, the old man had to throw in a time when Sam was deathly sick before and Dean was the only one who had not given up on him-a little reverse psychology didn't hurt. After the talk, Sam found new purpose to overcome his condition. It was to keep his brother happy. He realized his brother was happiest when he had a family: one who cared about his existence; one who he could protect; one he could rely on. In the end, it was both Winchesters who became one another's anchor to life.

Told you it was an emotional soiree.

Now that the sappy crap was over, it was time to get back to the action. Yeah, I get cranky without any action. And you betcha, there's gonna be a ton of it in the sequel.

Sam decided to be admitted and in route to the anointed hospital, Dean takes a small detour to an orphanage to fulfill a promise to himself (he vowed that if Sam changed his mind, instead of robbing the liquor store, he'd do something nice like buy out the whole candystore and give it to the kids…yeah, well, he had to do just that as the following morning Sam announced he changed his mind.) Upon arrival, the entire orphanage was in flames. Dean, being the hero we all love and adore, ran into the burning building when he learned there were kids left inside. Remember, he loves kids. So of course, he'd do that right! *ah, swoon* Wish there were men like that around where I live. That's okay, I'm moving soon. ;)

Reluctantly Dean accepted Sam's help in saving the kids. As the firemen and crew arrived, Dean went back in to search for more children. Bobby finally came on scene and comforted Sam while they waited eagerly for Dean to return. However, four entered the building, and only three of the firemen with the remainder of kids walked out. No Dean.

Now it's uncanny how similar the boys' thinking truly is, where they feel like they cannot function without the other, e.g. Dean decides he can't live without Sam. Sam is now in the same predicament. His decision for returning to the hospital was solely based on Dean's livelihood. Without one another, they are nothing. (Yep, I'm sure we all have noticed that is one of the underlying themes to our show. Besides, you can't have the show without the two of them. It just ain't meant to be. Uh huh, it's the same here in this story.) And as Dean was pissed when Sam admittedly gave up, symmetrically Sam was pissed that Dean wasn't walking out of the flaming hellhole.

So what does any family-loving, stubborn, pissed-offed Winchester do? He runs in. He was hell bent on finding his brother, saving him. And indeed he does find him and carries him out in a firemen's carry. Now I don't mean to brag, but God, I would love to see that scene in a movie someday. I think it would be hot—no pun intended. :D

Yes, Dean was saved….but with the smoke inhalation and the exhausting effort, Sam goes into cardiac arrest. Only a medic by the name of Caroline brings back a pulse. But it was official at this point: Sam needed a new heart.

And this is where the story gradually turns dark. I made a disclaimer at the beginning that there would be some heavy adult material, and there was. This was the tribulation time where the hope of Sam surviving was frail. Dean felt it. Bobby felt it. Even the few friends they made during their stay at the hospital felt it. The doctors had no explanation of why his vitals were declining so fast. (Okay, this is where I have to reiterate the fact that I'm no medical expert. Most of any medical information mentioned came from all parts of the web and a few biology books. But for that fic, I wasn't aiming for accuracy). Yes, Sam was slipping and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it…except find a new heart. Time was precious.

Sam's case was so peculiar, it had many colleagues of the main physician on standby and on call, which is unheard of, for any available heart across the country, but the likelihood of finding one stood remote. One day, Sam overheard the doctor speaking with his nurse claiming that Sam only had weeks, maybe one before he fell into a coma and would never wake. As one would expect, Sam had a full-blown panic attack. I know I would! Dean was stunned. His brother was so overwhelmed and emotionally distraught he felt there wasn't any other choice. He negotiated with the doc and was allowed for one day outside the hospital. Dean knew his brother wanted to spend as much time outside the bland walls and insanely quiet halls as he could.

They spent the whole day away. Dean took him to the diner he had visited many months before and to the park. There Sam met Caroline (Yes, I've used this name several times- hopefully you've caught on that this is the same character), a woman who ran an organization that aided in funding people like Sam with terminal illnesses who couldn't afford treatment. Showing off intriguing crime-fighting skills, Caroline gained Sam's liking along with some tantalizing advice. He appreciated the bonding they had. And the day ended with Dean taking Sam for a ride in the Impala. It was Sam's favorite memory to date.

Crunch time.

It wasn't long before Sam fell into the predicted coma. Dean, frantic at this point, has Bobby scouring every source imaginable, excluding finding a supernatural source. He made a promise to Sam to not go down that road. However, as the clock kept ticking and no heart was found, Dean reneged his promise and sought a crossroads demon…whereby was shocked when the demon declined the deal.

That left only one other option. And this is where the prologue picks up. Dean fell back into the pit of despair as he once had when their father died, and so in his mind, there wasn't an alternative. He felt convinced he could give Sam back his life. And then he killed himself.

Yep, many were shocked and kinda pissed that I actually did it: that I actually killed Dean. Well, again, there was a purpose.

Dean becomes a ghost and goes through this space continuum time-flux into the future where he learns some pretty horrifying things. And next he is brought back to life by a strange entity with a kind voice. He does not yet know who this figure is, or what she is, but he is given a vague warning about a very unstable, if potentially non-existent future. There wasn't much this figure could divulge, but it certainly piqued his curiosity…and dread.

Ultimately, it came down to the YED.

So incredibly conflicted, Dean does some serious thinking, finally coming to the conclusion that whatever Yellow Eyes has been up to, it won't lead to a shiny day with rainbows. But it also led to Sam. Somehow Sam still remained a variable in the YED's mass destruction equation. And it was only a matter of time before it came into fruition. So he was left with a very difficult and ironic decision: save or kill Sam. He wasn't sure if the decision he came up with would cost him or the world. In fact, he still doesn't know.

But in the meantime, luck would have it –_or was it?-_ that a heart was found last minute, and the doctors yet again couldn't explain the outcome. Sam was expected to make a full recovery, but still had to be on a strict regime, take at least thirty different pills each day, and mind the exercise.

Dean left the hospital with a new purpose. And that was to find out YED's plans and put a stop to it. And that purpose would consume him for the better part of four months while Sam was recovering.

A wallop of sympathy hit Sam during that time and he wanted to pay respects to the donor's family. He learned it was Caroline Carlyle, the woman he met in the park not long before his transplant. Sam and Dean traveled to Oregon to meet Caroline's parents. Dean was busy admiring photographs of Caroline, bothered by the fact that she looked really familiar. Meanwhile Sam learned a lot about the woman who saved his life and was told something very interesting…and shocking. It severely confused him.

In leaving, Dean remembered Caroline was the waitress he spoke to at the diner by the hospital and was the woman who gave him the warning.

It hit him they were all pawns in an unruly game of Supernatural chess…and his new mission was to claim checkmate before the other side did.

We ended the story with the YED showing up, crucifying Bobby to a tree, shooting Dean with the last bullet from the Colt, and kidnapping Sam, thus commencing his diabolical, yet mysterious plan that is yet to be revealed.

Yep, I ended it on a bad note, hence why many of you, if you are returning, are probably pissed. Now what I'm aiming for in the sequel is to completely diverge from the plot of the series and create an entirely new plot (as you've probably ascertained from the first fic. What I've done so far is change a few things (like postpone Sam's visions from season one until now for example, and keeping a few characters, but not others). But there will be certain familiar aspects in this story…so you know, just FYI!) Hopefully you'll like it.

Now, are you ready? I hope it's worth the wait.

Cheers!


	2. Prologue

**Home Is Where You Make It.**

Sequel to **Home is where the Heart Is:**

**Prologue: **

A streak of lightning fell from the night sky, striking a paved roadway producing a serrated crack. Residents of the suburban street barely noticed it, as they were indoors seeking the comfort of their air-conditioned homes. The haze outside was unrelenting. Even in the dead of night, without the aid of the almighty sun, the heat reigned, supporting one very clear message:

Summer had arrived.

From the crack, a foreign breeze glided with a purpose. The draft was chilly, crisp: a reprieve as it glided through the sultry air, past the droves of suburban houses, sweeping silently through an open window on the second floor of a two story, stirring the pink "Hello Kitty" drapes. It continued on until enveloping a small child who slept soundlessly on a tiny bed, cocooned warmly in her blanket. Her soft snores echoed quietly in her darkened bedroom. The "Simba" nightlight by the bed flickered.

The air suddenly stilled and a large hand stretched out, its long and chiseled fingers thrumming the young girl's platinum blonde hair. A man sat down beside the small body with an enamored grin, his green eyes sparkling with mirth.

The child stirred and a blue eye suddenly shined through a slit. It took only a second for the little girl to notice the darkened shape. Slightly alarmed, she emitted a soft squeak and opened her eyes, immediately relaxing.

"Hi honey." The man said.

Though he was mostly hidden in shadow, the little girl knew who he was. He often visited her at times. She liked it whenever he came. Only he hadn't visited in a year, since her fifth birthday.

"Sam? Is that you?" She uttered quietly. Anything more than a whisper and her dad would come. Sam always had to leave when that happened.

The green eyes glinted in the dark. "Yeah, it's me kiddo."

She grinned and sat up. "I missed you. Where did you go?"

"I had to go home for a little bit. Let's just say a few kids of mine were acting bad." He bopped her tiny nose. "I had to teach them a lesson to mind their manners."

"Did you put them in time out?"

"You can say that," he flashed a pearly white smile.

"That's what my teacher Mrs. Morris does! I've been in time out three times," she raised three tiny fingers and smiled mischievously, "this week."

"Oh," the man, Sam, was genuinely surprised. "Getting better, I see. Any luck at the science fair?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Just because I haven't been around doesn't mean I'm completely gone. I've been keeping tabs. I am supposed to be watching over you, aren't I?"

"I guess," her eyes casted down towards her covers, ashamed.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

She shrugged. "I hated it. It sucked. I got a white ribbon."

"Honorable mention? That's great!"

"No, it isn't," she pouted. "I wanted a blue ribbon. It was that stupid Tommy _Dork_-ison!"

"Is that really his name?" Sam became rather amused by the tyke's outburst.

"No," she replied miffed, "but that's what we call him. If he hadn't dumped over my plant, I would have won."

"Well, that was mean."

"No duh! And he called me a dummy after he did it."

"And what did you do?"

"I told him he was a stupid head. He didn't like that, so he pushed me down. He wanted me to cry."

"Hmm, something tells me that this isn't the first time this has happened."

She shook her head.

"Did you tell your dad about this?"

"Uh huh."

"And what did he say?"

Her voice lowered and she leaned in as though telling him a secret. Sam leaned in as well. "Shhh, he said I can't tell mom, but he said if someone starts a fight with me, then I finish it."

Sam couldn't control his laughter. Hearing that quote from a spunky six-year-old was all too comical. "Yea, that does sound like something your dad would say. So what did you do?"

"So I punched his nose. It started bleeding and everything. It was gross, but Tommy ran away crying. Ha!"

"Oh boy, do your parents have a trying time coming up? Where was your mom in all of this? What did she say you should do?"

"Erm," the child scratched her head, confused, "she says I shouldn't listen to him, that he only picks on me because he likes me."

"Ah, the typical parental response. Again, not surprised."

"Okay then?" The child challenged. "Tell me. Do I listen to Mom or Dad?"

Sam scratched his chin, contemplating. "Eh, I'd go with your mother. Listening to your dad sometimes probably would be a one-way ticket to Juvy."

"What's Juvy?"

"Ask your dad. He can tell you all about it, trust me."

"Okay?" She squeaked, unsure.

"Hey, I don't mean that in a bad way. Your dad is awesome. Let me tell you a story about a guy I knew—"

"Oh goodie! Storytime!" She clapped her hands loudly.

"Whoa, slow down there kiddo. This time it's not about the evil leprechaun who took over the Dairy Mart. It's about a guy who always stood up for what he wanted, for what he felt was the right thing to do, even when he faced certain death. Family always came first in his mind, and he didn't stop at nothing until they were safe and sound."

"Snooze-ville!"

Sam sighed. "It's got monsters in it."

"Okay!" She was back to being eager.

"Now I won't give you any of the nasty details. I think your mom will put _me_ in time out if I told you any of it. And it might scare you…"

"I'm not scared."

"Oh that's right, you want to be…uh…who was it? Xena? Leia?"

"Princess Mononoke! I want to be tough and ride wolves, remember?"

Sam stared. "Why am I not surprised your dad let you watch that? At least he hasn't let you watch _Heavy Metal_ just yet."

"What's _Heavy Metal_?"

"Dang, said too much. Don't ever mention that. Don't want your mom to smash a thermos against your dad's head again. Anyway, back to what I was saying. You need to know this stuff. It might save your life later on, because sweetie, you just never know."

The child seemed all the more eager to listen. "Is it about ghosts?"

Sam choked, rolling his eyes. "Ehhh, a little."

"Dad's read me a couple of ghost stories. He actually thinks this house has one."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, but he won't tell me why. He says that he'll take care of it. What do you think Sam?"

"Hmmm, I think it may be a little haunted."

"Really?" The child was nearly out of her covers on the balls of her feet. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm dead."


	3. One: Lost

**When a HERO falls…**

…**an ANGEL rises…**

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**Chapter One: "Lost"**

**Song by Within Temptation **

_**Singer Ranch:**_

The bullet hit and all the air was gone.

A fire, incomprehensible, wreaked havoc in his abdomen; the flames, it felt, fueled by desire to kill, traveled up his chest, his arms, his spine, enshrouding his mind in a haze of blinding pain.

He couldn't think.

It was absurd to try to move.

The enveloping darkness was upon him. Screams filled his ears. Harried, spine-chilling cries for help seeped terror in his soul. He would have froze had it not been for the fire rollicking in his gut. He wanted to help. He wanted to save whoever it was. But the pain kept him prisoner. What was this? Was this death? Again? No, it wasn't as painful last time. Or was it? He couldn't remember.

It was all a lie. Yes, that was it. This was an illusion his mind conjured to conceal the truth. He wasn't dying. He was probably lying in bed somewhere, not wanting to get up, unwilling to face new challenges in his quest to stop the Yellow-Eyed Demon. He wasn't in pain. There weren't any gut-wrenching screams. The Yellow-Eyed Demon wasn't here, in Bobby's livingroom, taunting him while he bled out on the floor, tormenting Sam with hidden truths. This was not happening. He was careful, too careful. He always covered his tracks.

Or perhaps he had slipped up somewhere?

No, not him. Not while Sam was recovering. Too much was at stake!

The darkness nearly had swallowed him whole. If this was happening, and the YED was here, then who was….

Sam!

Sam, it was him. He was the one screaming.

But the screams are gone now. Was he dead?

Somehow the thoughts in Dean's head passed that last one off as ludicrous. The demon wouldn't have taken the time to dish out that little spiel if he just wanted to snap the trap on them all. He had to get up. He had to fight for Sam. His little brother needed him, especially now since he was so vulnerable. He can't let him down.

His spirit fought on, but his body lacked the power. His heart beat slowed. His mind neared the boundaries of complete bliss. There was no control as his fighting spirit, shackled by his waning strength, crept slowly into the land of the dead once more.

He remembered Caroline's message to him…

"_The point is, Dean, you do have a purpose, a destiny you can't avoid. It is your and Sam's destiny to confront this. Stand up for the right of humanity and fight…"_

Some destiny? What was the point of all of that if this is where it all ends now? And if he did have some part in destroying YED's plans and avenging his parents, where were they? Whatever Caroline is? A ghost? An angel? Demon? Whatever she is, why isn't she here now, making sure that he is still around to complete the so-called "destiny" that is apparently his?

Well, there's no point now. There would be no coming back from it this round. That he was quite sure about. He remembered the darkened void he entered last time. He remembered the weightlessness he felt. And the terrible light that consumed him, that brought glimpses of the agonizing future. Maybe the phantom will show up this time too. Reluctantly he let it take him. It was all too familiar…although he didn't remember the clanging of bells the last time…

~o()o~

As soon as the dust settled from the demon and Sam's departure, it stirred up again. And there in the middle of the floor stood a short, tawny haired man with small, beady eyes, and a bird-like face. His eyebrows looked like little rooftops, and they were peaked high as he looked around the room in confusion.

"Whoa, talk about your basic picker-upper. Those dweebs at House Hunters would have an aneurysm for sure if they saw this. Although…" the man said, patting his chin, "I could make use of some of those curtain rods."

Ragged breathing permeated the still air from behind. The man twirled around and emitted a small "yikes" discovering Dean lying by the dusty bookshelves. "Dean?"

He casually strolled over and knelt down. "Dude, what the hell happened here?" He noticed the blood spilling onto the floor. "Ah man, your shirt. Those stains are going to be a stupid bitch coming out. But don't worry, I've got some great detergent that'll get em' right out!"

Dean's head moved to the side, obviously dying.

The man shook his shoulder. "Dean, ole' buddy ole' pal, can you hear me?"

There was no reply.

"Ah shish-ka-bobs, St. Peter's calling," he sat back on his hind in an Indian style, patting a grubby finger on his smooth bobble of a chin. There he donned a pondering expression, musing over the dying man before him. "Well Marco, you've certainly gotten yourself into a sort of pickle, haven't cha? What to do? What to do?" he intoned.

Dean was quite still now, his breathing almost non-existent.

"Hmmm, let's see, if I fix him up, then I'm stuck carrying on as watchdog, sticking my neck out where I'm sure Yellow Eyes is sure to make me into chicken giblets….or let the squawking hedgehog die, claim freedom, and sell those rods to Fanny for a nickel. Or actually I can stick those rods up Fanny's wazoo. That'll teach the smuck! Ha ha!"

The man took one more look at Dean.

"But wait a minute. This is Dean Winchester we're talking about. If I let him die, he'll haunt my incorporeal keister till I'm black and blue. Dammit, I could have made a fortune on all the crap in this place. Ah phooey!"

He bent forward and placed a small hand onto Dean's abdomen. A bright blue light lit up beneath his palm and suddenly something small, ball-like shot into his hand: the Colt's bullet that was embedded within Dean's gut. The light faded and Dean took a staggering breath. His eyes opened, round like quarters, startled.

"Yes, hail St. Mary and Jude. He has awoken!" Marco cheered and then he said to no one in particular, "Thank you. Thank you."

Dean gasped, shakily sitting up. "Marco?"

"Yup," he held out a hand.

Dean studied the hand for a second before carefully accepting it, and was pulled to his feet. The sudden height in elevation made him light-headed and he swayed, coughing, still savoring the sweet oxygen. He lifted his shirt and examined the spot where the bullet had penetrated; amazed at the smoothness of his skin, as though he weren't shot at all. It was a blessing in disguise to find and entrap a demon that can heal.

"I haven't an inkling about what match went down in here matey, but uh, I do have to say great set-up ya've got here. It'll make a great candidate for Habitat for Humanity."

Dean ignored the demon's taunts about Bobby's house. "Marco, what are you doing here?"

Marco appeared miffed. "Typical. Ya save a guy and immediately he's suspicious. Had an appointment, remember?"

"No."

"Well we did. Anyways, I've picked up some intel on 'Operation Demon Dumbo Drop'. Turns out Yellow-Eyes is on the move."

Dean said nothing but walked away towards the middle of the room where Sam was at not minutes before.

"What?" Marco strode towards him. "I figured you'd like to hear that."

"Were you ringing?" Dean didn't know why he had asked this question. Perhaps it was to steer clear of the daunting realization of Sam's kidnapping.

"Ringing? Like _'Ding'_?"

"Yeah, like church bells."

Marco became all the more perplexed. "Church bells? Ah, a screw loose. Bout time you finally cracked. I had my suspicions, but now it's official. Hmmm I guess a bullet to the gut will do that to ya."

"Quit jerking off!"

"Alright. Alright. Nah man, no bells."

A disparaging sigh escaped him. He was alive, no thanks to a demon. Now he has to find Sam. No matter what, he will find him. Guilt plagued him however. Yellow Eyes told Sam about his suicide and apparent resurrection. The look that Sam had given him stuck like an icy thorn. But he wouldn't allow it to disrupt his focus. If anything, Sam's abduction instigated a deadly determination within his core. He'll barge in and collapse Hell itself if it meant bringing back Sam alive and healthy. And no one knows demons better than Bobby. Bobby can track the bastard down within a couple of days. He can….

Dean gasped. Yellow Eyes nasally voice crept into his head… "_Your savior, so to speak, well…let's just say he's doing a little bit of a reenactment."_ And the image of Bobby crucified, his ashen complexion, the stillness. It felt like his heart died once more. He didn't wait for it to restart. He sprinted out the front door.

The breath caught in his throat. His nightmare had become a reality. Bobby still hung from the tree: the blood coating his hands and ankles was dark, congealed. Dean's gait faltered. The closer he got to the tree the more his legs felt like jelly.

"B-Bobby…"

Tears clouded his vision. "Bobby, no." he mewled. "No….Bobby….please. MARCO! COME HERE AND HELP ME!"

In the blink of an eye, Marco appeared. "Whoa hoss! Who pinned the donkey?"

Dean punched him off his feet.

"Yikes compadre!" Marco yelped, licking the leak of blood off his lip. "I was only joking!"

"Joke another time and help me get him down." Dean demanded.

The demon didn't argue. In a few moments, Bobby was unhooked and laid gingerly on the ground, partly onto Dean's lap. Red-faced and puffy-eyed, Dean held onto his mentor rocking him. He was deathly pale. His lips blue and his eyes glazed.

Desperate, Dean turned to Marco. "Heal him. Now!"

The demon spat into his hands, rubbed them together, and hovered them over the old man's sternum. He paused.

"Oh come on! What's the holdup?"

Marco squinted, puzzled. Dean stared pleadingly at the hands shrink back and then brought back, as though the demon was undecided in wanting to help. "Hurry dammit!"

"Can't do it compadre. All out of juice." He said.

"Bullshit!"

"Dude, check the pulse. He's nearly gone."

Dean grabbed him by his shirt-collar and pushed him down, accidentally emitting a sob. "NO!" It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. But the more denial tried pushing its way in, the truth fought back with a powerful kick. The demon was right. The man's breathing was shallow, his skin growing cold. It hit Dean. It hit him so hard, his conscious bruised. This was the last time he'd be with the man who was always like a father to him. There wasn't enough time. Bobby couldn't go. Not now. He had to help him find Sam.

"Bobby, please!" he tightened his grip. And then his mind played with him, delivering a dream sequence where Bobby gave a full grin, got up, shook himself off, and walked to the car calling him an "idgit". But he didn't. The cold splash of reality hauled him back where Bobby was dying in his lap. "Come on Bobby, I need you. Just hang on! We'll get you some help."

Bobby gasped repeatedly. It was like he was trying to tell him something. Feebly he shook his hand and motioned for Dean to lean in. Dean did and hesitantly listened. At first he couldn't understand, but then he began to pick up certain words…. "Yellow Eyes….open….open…"

"What? Bobby, I don't get it."

But Bobby ignored his protest and kept whispering. "Open….Carthage…._He rises in Carthage._"

"He rises?"

"He rises in Carthage…."

"He rises in Carthage?" Dean repeated.

Bobby nodded.

"He? He who? Who is it Bobby? Who rises in Carthage? What's Carthage?" There were so many questions. Dean's mind was racing. He knew Bobby was investigating more about the clues left by Yellow Eyes. He told him about the time he blew his head off, and about his theory that it might have been angels or something else entirely that brought him back. Sure the man's reaction was less than serene, but it gave him a motive to dig in deeper in discovering what the demon had plans for. But what was it that he found out? "Bobby, come on? Answer me please. Who is it? What did you find out? Is it Yellow Eyes?"

The man didn't answer. In fact, he couldn't. He emitted a few more shaky breaths and he gave a weak smile. Dean knew the time had come. He gave one more strained breath and then he was gone.

All the air had left again. He couldn't breathe. Sobs caught in his throat, burning. His hands and arms shook. Whether it was from rage or despair, he knew not which. He screamed long and loud, careless how far his voice carried. He didn't care if the earth cracked and spun off its axis -though a marvel that would be; the moon could come crashing down destroying all of mankind and he wouldn't care. There was so much pain. So much guilt weighing in his heart. It was all too much.

He glanced down at Bobby's still form, the ashen complexion, the open eyes. He barely could bring himself to do it. Slowly he closed the old man's lids, never to see the intensity, the wisdom, and the kindness those eyes had shown again. It felt like a sharp miner's pick had slammed into his heart. Everything about him hurt. But the pain was nothing compared to the loneliness he now encountered.

Marco approached, cautiously, with one eye squeezed shut, as though he was waiting for another blow. Just by the look, he was expecting to now be a demon punching bag. Dean contemplated it. Beating on Marco right now would be a grand relief. But he had a mission now. First, to find Sam; and second, to stop Yellow Eyes. Even if he had to die a thousand times, he would not rest until Yellow Eyes was put down like a damn rabid dog and the world and Sam was safe again.

Bobby's body was still flaccid in his grip. He didn't want to let go. But he knew he had to. Sam was waiting on him. However, he couldn't leave Bobby to rot here.

~o()o~

The funeral pyre was set ablaze. Waves of powerful flames rippled and churned in a deadly display of orange, blue, and red. Amongst the intensity of the heat, there was the faint smell of sizzling flesh, but it was barely discernible amidst the choking vapors of burning wood and charcoal. It left a stale, almost coppery taste in Dean's mouth, and his eyes watered. But he refused to look away. The fire consumed the man who was more than a father to him. He was a mentor; a companion. Someone he had always been able to rely on, seek council, and kick ass on any given day. Bobby was an anchor in this otherworldly awful world. And now he was gone.

This felt all too familiar: standing across from a pyre watching a loved one burn away as part of the traditional hunter funeral. It wasn't too long ago when he and Sam had watched the funeral for their biological father. Then, it was painful to endure too. Tears threatened to spill, but he willed them away. There would be a time and a place to fall apart, but it wasn't now at this very minute.

Marco shifted next to him flicking the settling ashes off his **Cuervo** leather jacket. Dean rolled his eyes. The demon could be rolling in a swarm of fire-ants and his main concern would be his clothes. If it weren't for the binding spell he performed to keep the demon at his disposal, he was sure he would be in **Gucci** stores indulging in all its contents. In all honesty, however, it was rather good that he stuck around. At least now he had someone to help him hunt for Sam. Marco wasn't too thrilled about the upcoming endeavor, but to Dean's amusement, it wasn't like he had a choice.

"So…" Marco began, "Shall we give a speech or sentiment or throw flowers or something?"

"No."

"No? Like no funeral feasts or anything? Cuz I gotta say, I'm starving."

"You're a demon."

"So? That doesn't mean we can't eat. I'm sure this dude, if he were alive, wouldn't mind a nice juicy steak…ooh, and some chili con carne…or yum, birthday cake pops…or…."

"Forget it! We need to get on the road." Dean barked turning away from the pyre.

Marco fretted, following him. "Ah man. Now? Can't we just wait a second?"

"No."

"What if I say 'please' with a cherry on top? Will that work?"

"No."

"Fudgecakes. No mercy."

"Well that's what happens when you decide to be a dick and hang kids from lightpoles."

"We were only having a spot of fun."

"They were fifteen year olds," Dean glared, "And they were naked."

Marco spread his hands and shrugged, "Whaaaat? It was a self-esteem promotion."

"I'm sure."

"Well it was. That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

Annoyed, Dean shook his head. "You're a pest."

"And you just now figured that out!"

Rolling his eyes once more, Dean continued on until they exited the quiet woods behind Bobby's house. Giving the house and the junkyard one last look, he and Marco hopped into the Impala. Harsh feelings welled up within him. Not only was a demon taking a joyride in his baby making comments about its shiny and pampered leather, but this would also be the last time he set foot on Singer Salvage. His heart broke just a little more.

Marco turned to him in all seriousness about five miles into the journey away from Sioux Falls. "Now let me get this straight…Yellow Eyes just left the building nearly killing you, if _moi_ hadn't shown up that is, killed your old man, and took your brother. Now we – as in you and I, the dynamic duo – are on our way in tracking him down and putting a major detour to whatever end-of-all-humanity-as-we-know-it scheme he and his infidel cronies have conjured up and probably get gutted, dismembered, with our body parts sent to all the elementary schools in the area…. You know that's actually not a bad idea….but does that pretty much sum it all up?"

"Pretty much," replied Dean.

"Oh, gotcha," Marco chewed his lip. "So how certain are you on a scale of one to ten that your damsel-in-distress sibling is still breathing?"

"Eleven."

"Huh?"

Dean shot him a glare. "Yellow Eyes took him for a reason. If he wanted to kill him, he'd have done in front of me, but he didn't. That bastard's got something nasty planned for him. Been that way since he was six months old. Plus, I distinctly remember hearing him mention to Sam that he'll survive the 'first round'. And if that means what I think it means, then we've got some time."

"And you're a hundred percent confident in his abilities?"

"A hundred and ten percent. Now stop with the questions. My brother is going to make it. Period!"

"Okay fine, fine, fine."

Shaking his head, Dean returned his attention back to the road. The only direction he knew of at this point would be to head for Nebraska to a little roadhouse that housed a computer nerd he met a few months back. This guy would have all the answers and the technology to find Sam. He just prayed that he would get there in time. God knows, he's gonna need another miracle right about now.

"Okay, I've got one more question," Marco piped.

"What?" Dean growled.

"Am I gonna get hazard pay out of this?

* * *

He was falling though a black void. Weightless. Unknowing. It seemed almost blissful.

Until…

_**SLAM!**_

He fell onto something hard. A pained gasp escaped his chapped lips and he was afraid to open his eyes. But Sam realized the moment Yellow Eyes took him, the game would begin. And already, he also realized, it had.

He just didn't want to know what was in store at this very moment. He wanted to stay in the dark, ignorant of his surroundings.

Unfortunately life doesn't work that way.

Instantly he opened his eyes and found that he was in a clearing with a dark cloudy sky and dead trees all around. They looked like charred gangly hands threatening to claim him. The air was bitter cold and there was this smell. He knew this smell. The last time he smelled something like this, his dog Bones had died, and he didn't bury him for three days. It was the smell of something dead.

He looked to see what was so hard that he fell on….and wished he hadn't.

It was a mound of dead bodies. Some mostly decomposed with stripes of raw pink and black flesh hanging off dirtied bones; others with bloated faces frozen in fear. He gasped again finding his hand caught in the long hair of a dead girl, newly killed. Half her face was burned away.

Now terrified, Sam sat up seeing there were about a hundred bodies. "Holy shit!"

And then he heard a whistling sound. He looked up and saw a blazing fireball flying towards him. It hit; the hot embers and flames covering him whole. All he could do was scream as the flesh began to melt from his face.

* * *

**Yup, I'm back! ;)**


	4. Two: The Storm

**Chapter Two: "The Storm"**

**Song by Wojciech Kilar, Bram Stoker's Dracula Soundtrack**

The fire was excruciating. The flames enshrouded his entire being. He was dead for sure as there was seemingly no escape. And the only thought that rummaged through his head was: Not like this. How could he die within the first few minutes he arrived? He mustered every breath and let it all out in one long, harrowing cry.

"Would you stop screaming? Nothing's attacked you yet!" a voice called out.

"Huh?" Sam stopped, confused. He looked down at his hands. They weren't on fire. He scanned the rest of his body. The flames, the deadly heat vanished. He was fine, still seated on top of the decomposing bodies. "What the…"

"Ya mind keeping it down? They do have supersonic hearing, ya know?" said the voice again.

Sam peered up and found a boy about the same age as he. He seemed a head shorter with dark mousy hair, a Roman nose, and pale skin. If it weren't for the patches of dried blood along the sides of his face, the dirt smudges streaked across his cheeks, his neck, and all down his black Led Zeppelin tee, Sam might've guessed he was a fanclub leader for **World of Warcraft**, or he majored in illegal botany and grew some of the experiments in the backyard.

Only Sam was too freaked out by that vision to pass any sort of judgment. He spied one last time at his hands and legs, looking for vestiges of the fire. "Holy shit." He said again.

"Yeah, you said it! Now come on," he called, "we've got to boogey. Zelda knows" –_Ah! A gamer!_ – "they heard that little scream of yours and are coming. 'Sides with this smell, Imma 'bout to yak." The boy pulled him off the decomposing carcasses and began to stroll away, fast.

Speechless, Sam spun around calculating his surroundings. Just as he expected, Yellow Eyes had transported him to some unknown place deep in the mountains, judging from the crisp chilly air. Some place, more than likely, far from civilization, far from any ability to gain a signal on his cell, far from Dean and Bobby.

_Oh God!_ Bobby! He couldn't bear to think about it. The last he saw of the man he was crucified to a tree in the front yard. He looked dead. But he couldn't be. This was Bobby he was talking about. The man was like a walking, talking steel fortress, fortified, and just as stubborn. He'd survive, he was sure. And hopefully he would help Dean too! Sam nearly caved into the grief for a brief second. Hope that his kin would survive was frail, and he struggled deeply to hang onto it. There hardly was any left to hang on to at all.

The pile of bodies lay in a small clearing encircled by more death. And that wasn't an exaggeration. No life existed in the flaky earth beneath his feet. Nor did life exist in the surrounding trees the boy disappeared through. It was deathly quiet with an eerie mist obscuring most of the towering sky. It looked more and more like he was on the set of Sleepy Hollow. He was half-expecting for the Headless Horsemen to show, or some bird or critter to announce its presence.

In fact, actually, he didn't hear any wildlife at all.

It was way too quiet for his liking. He sprinted after _gamerboy_. At least he didn't seem eager to make a snack out of him.

"Hey! Wait up!" He called, running to catch up. "Hey! Hold on a sec!"

"Shhhh!"

"Sorry…"

"Shhhh, not so loud. Geez!"

"All right, I get it," Sam tried to placate.

"No, you don't," the boy interjected. "They're probably on their way right now about to swoop in and commit one of _Rahj's Inferno Leaps _on our persquzzers."

"They're…what?"

"Not now, ya wanna talk? Follow me," he took off at a jog.

Sucking in a deep breath, minding his heart, he followed closely behind, mimicking the boy's movements as he ducked in and out of the gnarly trees, looking up and watching out for…well, to be honest, he had no clue what he was looking for. Creatures? Demons? Pigeons with viruses? What? The boy said nothing but continued to jog through the creepy patch of woods.

Sam scanned his surroundings as quick as he could. Though it was difficult to discern what the trees are due to their lack of leaves, he guessed they were ponderosa pines. The bark looked similar. And others appeared to be aspens and birches. This many aspens and bur oaks out there, he figured he was somewhere in the Black Hills of South Dakota or Wyoming.

At last, his leader led him to the back of a wooden house. Shabby, full of termites and water rot, a hideout shack for the criminally insane was all Sam could describe the place. Hidden beneath a foot of bristly tan grass was a pair of moss-laden wooden doors in the ground at the edge of the two-story. _Ah, a basement!_ The boy removed the rusty chain link and opened to darkness. Sam was hesitant. But the boy quickly ushered him down rickety steps, still searching the outside for potential followers. And just as Sam predicted, he found himself inside a basement.

_A very old basement! Like horse-and-buggy and tailor-coat old!_

Spongy grime matted the two windows located high up on the left wall. Daylight barely filtered through the yellow coloring mass, settling the dank room in a dark gloom. Weathered, rusty sickles and scythes hung from the rafters and several lay in the dirt flooring, including equipment for plows. An acute pain shot through his heart and he grasped his chest. He needed his medication, but in this setting, it became wishful thinking. He sighed. Not half an hour ago, he had a home, he had his meds, and he was playing football with Dean.

The boy closed the doors and placed a 2x4 plank into metal slots, securing them tight. Breathlessly he slunk down the stairs, pulled a flask from his pocket and tossed its contents into Sam's face.

"What the…hey!" Sam sputtered, wiping his face.

"Sorry," the boy said. "Had to make sure you weren't one of them."

Sam stared, gauging. "You mean that was holy water?"

"Sure," he shrugged, "there was another guy like me. He found the church just up the way here and we collected it. It's the only thing that backs em' off."

"So they're demons?"

"Demons? Like Diablo III demons?"

"Uh, sure…only they're not animated."

"No shit. I don't think an animated character can blow someone up with the snap of their fingers. I just thought they were called something else." He looked pissed, as though insulted.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

The guy sighed, hanging his head, regretful for his outburst. He stowed the flask back into his pocket. Sam lifted an eyebrow. It was kind of hard to get a read on this guy. "It's okay dude," he smiled slightly, "apparently since you're not one of them, then you're one of me and I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. We're in a real fucked up situation here." He went to the window and began some serious reconnaissance.

Sam couldn't agree more with his statement. He smirked a little. "Just curious though…what would you have done if I had turned out to be a demon?"

"Look up," was the response.

Sam did and was shocked. Above him carved into the aged wood was a Devils Trap. He couldn't believe it. Who was this guy? "You made a Devils Trap? How—"

"It wasn't me. It was that guy who helped collect the water. He got here at the same time I did about two weeks ago…or I think it was two weeks. Who knew how fast time flies when you have angry squidgets hunting your ass down for breakfast?" He laughed. "Anyway he said something about 'cherries' or ghosts and immediately went to that church. It was lucky we found it."

"Did he give his name?" Sam was more curious than ever to find out who this kid was. Perhaps he was a hunter, or maybe a hunter's kid, like him?

"What does it matter now? He's dead."

"I'm sorry. I'm just trying to get the facts here."

The boy turned around, the tension in his mousy face wavering. "No, I'm sorry. Everything…" he emitted a troubled sigh and feebly smiled, "I'm not the only one here. There were a bunch of us. And we've been in a very sour pickle. I don't know if they're alive. A herd of demons or whatever came out of nowhere and separated us. Dan and I came here. He set up the sign and said it'll trap em'."

Sam studied the hunter's handiwork. "He did a good job. Did he say if he was a hunter?"

"Hunter, like tracking down Bambi and his mama? No," he shook his head. "Said nothing like that. Told me a voice came to him and told him to read all about ghosts and stuff; said he found that pentagram in a book. To be honest, I really don't know if it works or not."

"It works. Trust me, he got it right."

The boy hopped down from his vigil. "Names Andy Gallagher," he took his hand into a big handshake. "Former kitchen boy slash toilet scrubber slash bong loader. You?"

"Sam Winchester. Former pre-law student and recent heart transplant survivor."

Andy's expression saddened. "Sorry to hear that man. New chance at life and all and now this? I don't know what to say to that."

"Say what all do you know. The bastard who brought us here is a demon – a cosmic dick at the top of Hell's Totem Pole – and he wants to do something with people like you and me…"

"Yea…and what is that plan again? Someone let slip that we're supposed to have all these super Jedi mind tricks. Cuz I'm not gonna lie, that would be pretty sweet."

"You mean nothing weird has happened to you yet?"

His expression grew grave. He casually shrugged. "Maybe."

Sam narrowed his gaze. "Andy, come on. We're in the same situation, you and I. Tell me."

Andy contemplated and then waved his hands around, "I don't know. Some things may have happened a week prior to being zapped to this hellhole….and not because I had hit my fourth bong load either. I don't know….some things like…um…you know people doing stuff they wouldn't normally…when basically I would…but no, they couldn't…."

He was beginning to not make a lick of sense. Finally Sam said, "Hey, focus. What happened?"

The kid stopped and took a deep breath. "Okay, first time I noticed something way off I was at work and I had to boil a pot of water. I thought 'hey how stupid is this? I got a degree solely just to boil water. Why can't that guy just do it?' And the next thing I know is the meat cleaver guy drops his shit, comes over, and boils a pot of water."

"That's something?"

"I didn't think so at first, but then it happened again when I would think about someone else doing something I didn't want to and they would do it! I kept getting these migraines suddenly at random parts of the day when I wanted someone to do my job for me. It was great! Until…"

He paused, growing rigid. Sam eyed him curiously, eagerly waiting for him to continue.

"And then one day I thought to myself 'wouldn't it be nice if my asshole of a boss came to me, said "sorry for being an ass" and left me off with some weekly paid vacay action…and then hang himself on the fan inside his office."

"Let me guess, he did."

"Verbatim dude…and he didn't do it later. It happened right at that moment."

"Coincidence maybe?"

"I wish to the man upstairs it was. The next day I went to the bank and just by thinking it the teller gave me 10,000 dollars."

Sam was shocked. "Whoa, that must've been nice."

"Oh it was sweet! But I told her to put it back and just give me a thousand for some new pot and tolls on my way outta there. I knew I had to get out. Was on my way to Tulsa when this guy just appeared in the passenger seat of my van. He grabbed my wrist and voila! I wake up in freakin' Frontierland!" His shoulders drooped.

Sam sympathized, understanding the look. He moved closer. "Don't beat yourself up Andy. You didn't kill your boss. It was an accident."

Andy's eyes watered. "I wasn't being serious, you know. He was a cheap, arrogant dick who liked to pick on people, especially my gal Tracee. I'm sure a lot of us wanted him to keel over…only it's one thing to think it and another for it to actually happen."

Sam didn't need an explanation. He often wondered what his abilities would be. He figured out that YED had tainted him somehow. It was painstakingly obvious that the YED was the culprit behind all of this. Whatever he had done, he figured it had something to do with the night his mom was killed. He only wished he had more clues to figure out what its endgame was. So far, all he had was his mother's murder and his recent abduction. There was that vision of the fireball he had upon arrival, but he wasn't sure if that had anything to do with it. His father, while hunting, kept to himself. Dean was the same way, and so he had nothing to go by. There was no control.

Sam relayed this to Andy, who waited and listened patiently whilst glancing out the window searching for movement. He told him how vast the Supernatural world was and how deadly it was too; everything he knew about demons and their captor. He told him about the night YED came into his nursery and killed his mom and how since that night his father had led him and his brother into a crusade against the Supernatural for the last twenty-two years and a half of his life.

"…the last several months or so my brother had been trying to figure out the grand scheme. He hadn't found out much. And that could only mean that this thing has been working hard in covering its tracks, make it beyond impossible for hunters to find out or make sense of what he's up to."

"Wait, so hold on! You mean he somehow did some magic mumbo-jumbo on us, wants us on his side, but now he's brought us here to be slaughtered? Question? What was the fucking point? Why not line us up in front of a firing squad? It would be a hell of a lot faster!"

"I don't think it's supposed to end here. When he broke into our house, he let slip about a 'first round'. I think he intends to use us as pawns in some kind of army or something if we make it out of here…"

"What!" Andy snapped. "Oh hell no! I'm not biting freakin' dust for some whack job psycho with a napoleon complex. I lived with my druggie mother for twenty-two years AND that was enough!"

Sam shrugged, unsure of what to say.

"This doesn't make any sense. So…so was siccing these things on us an attempt to bring our quote on quote"- he bent his fingers citing quotation marks-"powers out of dormancy? Cuz I gotta say, the magic fingers ain't working."

"Same here. Aside from my shitty existence, I haven't noticed anything either. But I will say this: I'd rather be dead than work for that asshole."

"Keep that attitude up and you will be." Andy quipped.

"How many have shown up since you've been here?"

"Dozens… and they keep on coming. And judging by the state of your arrival, I'd say there are at least fifty or more."

"Why do you say that? If you've been holed up down here, then how do you know about the others? How'd you know about me?"

"Deep breath dude. Every time one of us yahoos show up there's a blue flash in the sky, typically crash landing on that pile of bones you woke up on. Dan and I, anytime we saw a flash, we'd try to go out there and get em' before You Know Who's henchmen beats us to it. It sucks though, cuz there were many times we didn't make it."

Sam shivered. The reality of being torn to bits was like a splash of icy water. But he couldn't afford to think about the cold. He now had to stay alive, either long enough to put a stop to the YED or for Dean to come and find him. And if Dean didn't survive…no, he wouldn't say that. Dean had survived electrocution, YEDs torture, t-boned by a Semi, and had his ass kicked in more ways than he cared to talk about. No way would a single gunshot wound take him. Besides if what the YED had said was true, then some higher power had helped him and he was tearing up the roadways to find him. For a mere second, Sam felt elated at that conviction. But he bit his lip as he was at a stalemate. He didn't know whether to feel angry that the YED might be right and that Dean had killed himself and something had brought him back, or relieved that 'something' will do it again. Well, he supposed his sudden desire to tear the whole place apart would have to be postponed. Causing a scene in the bottom of an ancient basement while unseen predators lurked about on the outside wouldn't contribute to a winning outcome.

Quickly he looked around the room for some salt or iron, but to his dismay, came up empty-handed. He grasped his chest again, fearful.

"Hey! Hey!" Andy quietly called to him, rapidly motioning for him to come hither. Sam was over in one stride, and there through the grime, he saw several lilac flashes illuminating patches in the gray clouds. But they weren't in the direction he and Andy came from. They were on the other side of the…well, he wasn't quite sure where here was.

"Hey Andy, where are we?"

"I don't know; some ghost town. It reminds me of Magnificent Seven…and speaking of, I counted seven flashes, meaning there are seven more of us," he grabbed the wooden handle of a rusty saw and headed for the basement exit. "You can stay here if you want."

"Forget that, I'm coming with you."

"We might not make it." Sam could've laughed. It was rather disturbing that he kind of liked that the roles were reversed at this moment.

"Well, if a demon doesn't kill me, then I die from this," he pointed at his chest. "It's a no-win situation." At least, he wasn't lying. If kept away from his meds, he'd give himself no more than a week.

"Alright then, let's boogey."

Quickly Sam grabbed what looked like a farrier's rasp. It was long, grooved, and heavy; something to do the trick.

They left the basement and skirted the treeline around the rickety house. The paneling was gray and black, a probable product of a lot of water and rot damage. A spiral staircase led up to a canopied balcony on the second floor. And a large, dead tree resided to the front of the house, providing lots of cover, as thick undergrowth created a palisade around the entrances to the house. Sam could understand why Andy chose it. It blended well into its shadowy background; sometimes invisible if you didn't know where to look. However, judging from its decrepit appearance alone with the slight lean to the right and the wet, bowing boards, Sam wasn't too comfortable returning to the basement. One small gust of wind and it would crumble like a house of cards. _This keeps getting better and better._

Andy continued to lead him towards, as Andy put it, a ghost town…and lack of a better description, that's exactly what it was. An entire street lay before him with nineteenth century housing with a saloon, a building whose windows held faded lettering spelling "sheriff", and several others just as dark and abandoned as the house they hid in. They passed a well, and suspended above the hole was a tarnished bell. Sam paused, instantly recognizing the landmark, and equally dreaded it. He knew exactly where he was.

_**Cold Oak. **_

The most haunted town in the United States. It was abandoned back in the 1800s due to several deaths at the local lumber mill. Legend has it that the town had been built on a supposed burial ground of the area's Arikara of the Sioux Native Americans. Before they were forcibly migrated towards what is now Oklahoma and Texas, the people had fought long and hard to keep their village along the Missouri river only to be massacred by the Europeans and the western pioneers. The pioneers renovated the village to the western appeal and opened a lumber mill about a mile away. Years after the renovation, stories arose about the native's ancestors wreaking havoc on the town. It first began with five deaths at the mill and soon members of the town's bar began dropping like flies. There were no actual reports of witnessed homicides, only remnant vapor surrounding the victims as they were discovered. Eventually the locals left it to rumor and there began the legend of the most haunted town in the land. No one has been back since and those who have were never seen again.

Sam read about it in his father's journal. He remembered the month and half his dad had been gone for in trying to find the town. Luckily, he said to himself, John never found it or perhaps he never would have seen him again. It disconcerted him a tiny bit. If his father couldn't find the town, how in the hell was Dean going to find it?

So much for wishful thinking!

"Andy," Sam whispered, "I think I know where we are."

"What? Where?"

"Cold Oak. We think its somewhere in South Dakota. Supposedly the most haunted town in America. Are you sure it's demons we're dealing with?"

"I don't know, that's what Dan said they were. 'Sides what else could it be?"

Sam snorted. "An entire encyclopedia's worth. Crap, this just got real bad. So much for a freakin' signal! That saw you have? You might as well drop it. It's useless if it's ghosts or something similar."

Andy looked down at the saw and donned a longing look. He said pitifully, "It makes me feel better."

Sam huffed. "Okay? But if we come across a demon dude, or some pissed-off ghost, that's not gonna even put a dent in em'."

"Then what?"

"Two things if possible: iron and salt."

"Salt?"

"Yeah, take it or leave it. I know how it sounds, but trust me. We'll have a better chance if we can get our hands on some of those. I'm surprised Dan, is it? He didn't tell you."

"Well," Andy smoothed a hand through his crusty curly hair. "He did….and we found some in that church…but it didn't work."

Sam froze. "What do you mean it didn't work?"

"It did nothing against them man. We sprung it at them, made a barrier, but they kept on coming."

His heart skipped a couple of beats. "Then they can't be demons or ghosts."

"I don't know what they are. All I know is that they've been hunting us the minute we got here."

"Okay, okay. Let's just try to find the others and get back under cover. I'll take point, you watch the back."

"Aye, aye captain," said Andy as he took the rear.

Together Sam and Andy blended in with the cover of the Tim Burton-esque trees, away from the town, which Andy claims the demons, or whatever, like to roam, but yet, was the only place to provide protection. Go figure! Where the flashes occurred, a light glow remained. At a light jog, they headed towards the pulsating light searching for any signs of life, human or otherwise. Sam felt incredibly naked. Based on Andy's intel, the weapons they had were useless against this seemingly invincible yet invisible enemy. If salt could not ward off these "demons", then what the hell were they going to do if and when one of them decides to show on this little excursion? He didn't like the odds one bit whatsoever.

Sam was so preoccupied with his thoughts, he walked past a dark figure standing next to an Ash tree, its bloody serrated teeth glowing.

The sound of footsteps forced them to halt in their trek. The air so still, the cracking of twigs and rustling of detritus echoed and reverberated like they were sounding through a megaphone. Sam felt his pulse quicken, with sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, despite the chill. Andy shot him a nervous glance, but quickly replaced it with determination. Sam had to give the guy credit. Not many people in his position had the guts to do what he was doing. Sam blamed it on the Xbox.

The snapping grew louder. They ducked down beneath a fallen log, carefully spying through the opening from the ground to the trunk, waiting with bated breath to see the owner of the footstep's arrival.

They let loose a sough of relief. It was a group of youngsters around their age, seven in total like Andy had surmised, all appearing lost, confused, and terrified. There were three girls and four boys. One boy was tall with a short, brunette mussed hair and strong build like a football player wearing an Idaho University jersey jacket; a smaller boy with flaming red hair and freckles painting a milk white complexion; another that carried a skateboard adorned in a long black baggy shirt and jeans with an "Adidas" cap worn backwards; plus another kid that was a geek. School-bus yellow bowtie and slacks too!

The girls were a little less differential. Two of them were dressed ready for a soccer tournament with blonde hair pulled back tightly in ponytails. The other was a brunette who had the label "Catholic School girl" written all over her wearing a pale pink skirt and blue cardigan and a gold crucifix, which she clung onto as though it were her lifeline.

Sam stood up, closely followed by Andy. The Catholic girl screamed.

"Shhhhh," they responded in unison and then exchanged comical glances.

Sam cleared his throat. "Don't scream. We're the good guys."

"If that's so, then why are you holding that thing and he's holding a knife?" the skinny tall guy asked.

"This isn't a knife, it's a saw you dumbass," Andy retorted waving the saw around, "And it's for demons."

The group all backed away, now more afraid and confused.

Sam shot an annoyed glare. Andy shrugged, "What? They're gonna find out sooner or later."

"Demons? Oh my Lord, you're some kind of satanic freaks, aren't you?" The Catholic girl squeaked. "Stay away from me. I have the Lord and Jesus on my side and they will protect me."

"Save it sweetcheeks. The Lord doesn't get reception here."

"Hey go easy man, they're scared," said Sam to Andy.

"And you think I'm not? At least I'm smart enough to realize that He Almighty is on vacation cuz he ain't done jackshit for me the last two weeks!" He rolled his eyes as the girl suddenly got on her hands and knees and began to pray furiously. "Oh here we go!"

"Andy, come on man. We need to focus on getting out of here." And Sam meant it, because suddenly he acquired a very nasty feeling, a shivering chill sliding down his back. "Take cover and let's go." He told the group.

"And why should we do that?" The tall, skinny boy opposed.

"Because you'll be turned into mincemeat if you don't," Andy was quick to respond.

The boy turned a dangerous glare his way. He stepped forward threateningly. "Funny, I don't see anything else weird except for you two sickos."

Sam hastily whispered, "Shut up. Keep your voice down."

"Don't you tell me what to do if you don't want my fist down your windpipe!"

Andy turned to Sam. "I don't like him. He can stay. Everyone else, come on, we have a hideout spot. The sooner we get out of cover, the better."

"And you think we're just going to trust some crazy jackasses with a couple of tools we happen to find in the middle of Hell's woods? Balls! You can be some of those Deliverance fellers that finds love all in the wrong places." His voice rang amongst the trees, now a homing beacon to any and all evil within ten yards. The soccer girls clung to one another, whimpering.

"Not sure if you have a choice at this point laddie!"

"Oh hell no! We got here together, we stay together!"

"Then by all means, come along then sir," Andy teased in a fake British accent. The kid's jaw clenched tight, and he squared his shoulders longing to fight.

"Alex, stop," said the Catholic girl, scared. "They seem to want to help us."

Alex sneered. "I don't trust them."

"Nor should you, but hey, don't come crying to me when you get torn apart…" This certainly elicited a squeal from half of the group.

"Okay, enough!" Sam was extremely uneasy. He couldn't explain it, but the feeling that something was nearby and watching, moving in on their location, was so strong now, it was like he could feel the evil breathing down his neck. "You're right. There's some crazy shit in here, and unless you want a formal introduction, I suggest you shut the hell up and come with us, _now_!" The discussion was over, they had to move!

He took the lead furtively listening for any signs of movement other than their own. The group huddled tightly together ducking down following his lead, except for Alex, whom stood tall making loud footsteps in their wake. He kept muttering to himself, also loudly, about the audacity of some "losers" who like to boss people around. Another hot-head Sam was overjoyed to have to deal with.

The menacing kid called ahead to them, "Look at you idiots. There's nothing out here but trees…and dirt. I don't know what the hell you guys are scared of. We're all that's out here."

"Shut up Alex," the Catholic girl quietly screeched. "You don't know that."

"Oh and we're just gonna take their word for it Cills?" He scoffed. "Let's just all follow the pack of weirdoes like a flock of geese."

"If you don't shut it back there, we're leaving you behind," Sam called back.

"Oh wow…" Alex mocked, "I'm shaking in my boots. The tree! Oh the tree! It's gonna get me, ohhh!"

A small measure of ire began to boil within Sam's gut. Any second, he was about to clobber this guy's face and swell his mouth shut. The longer he carried on, the more likely chance the demon's found their whereabouts.

"Oooh look out Anthony," Alex pointed at the red-headed kid, "Careful the wind might pick ya up and make a pancake out of you."

"Quit it Alex," the red-head whined, stopping to look at him. "You've made your point, now stop…_AHHHHHHHH_—"

Something invisible snatched the kid's flaming red hair and lifted him upwards twenty feet into the gnarly branches of the large Ash. Everyone on the ground let out a scream watching the kid jerk and squirm. Sam and Andy ran to the front, wielding their heavy weapons, but it was no use. The invisible fiend suspended the kid high above and then in one quick second, he was quartered and diced, showering everyone in large bloody chunks.

Terrified, every pair of feet took flight heading back towards Cold Oak. The girls continued to scream and whistle…whistle? Sam looked up and his heart stopped cold.

Streaming rapidly through the dead forest were basketball-sized fireballs. They flew past in all directions, the searing heat leaving blisters as they passed. Sam called for everyone to follow him, but no one listened. They all ran, separated. Another fireball headed for them, trailing their backs. It hit one of the soccer girls, incinerating her on impact. Her heart-stopping screams only lasted a mere second. That second seemed to last forever though, piercing Sam's soul.

"Sam, you say you're the expert! What the fuck are these things?" Andy cried, running alongside him.

"They're not demons. I've never seen a demon do that before," he panted, weaving in and out of the trees, dodging the walls of hideous fire.

"Then what are they?"

"I don't know!"

"What do we do?"

"RUNNNNN!"

And he was right. Not having a clue of what they're up against, weaponless, there was nothing else to do but run!

* * *

**Any and all historical references in this chapter is fictional. Plus, I don't mean to offend anyone of Catholic or Christian faith, or any religious preference, based on certain parts of the dialogue in this chapter. Again, I apologize if you are. Hope you enjoyed. Now is where the action starts. I'll have the next chapter up by next week. Cheers!**


	5. Three: United We Stand Divided We Fall

**Chapter Three: "United We Stand – Divided We Fall"**

**Song by Two Steps From Hell**

* * *

_**Interstate 29, south of Sioux, South Dakota:**_

"For crying out loud, if you don't cram that piehole of yours, I'm gonna smash your fingers one by one with a hammer!"

It was official: Dean had reached his breaking point. The demon riding shotgun had talked his ear off the minute he turned the engine and sped off from Bobby's ranch. Marco sat rolling a bottle of rum dated from the 17th century between his hands, jabbering on about a man in Australia who took his set of cursed coins. The thief used them at a local pub and soon the entire bar was full of squealing, drunken babies. Apparently it took the authorities awhile to figure out the mess, and who to charge with child abandonment, but ultimately was left scratching their heads and asses.

"I'm just saying if he hadn't been a bad boy, he wouldn't be pooping his pants for the rest of the day…"

"I don't care!" yelled Dean. "Let's play the silent game. You start."

"Wow, touchy!"

Dean growled. He had absolutely no interest in the voracious storytelling about crappy, old collections over the years. The steering wheel in his grip slipped and rotated harshly. It was hard to keep control of it, hard to see the black as night roadway. A broken levy of torrential rain poured over the Impala's windshield, drops the size of baseballs hammered against the driver's window. Gusts of wind fifty miles an hour continually pushed the Chevy across the asphalt. Strikes of lightning lit up the world in quick, lilac bursts, unable to conquer the darkness. Thunderstorms were common around these parts of the mid-west, however not to this magnitude. If Dean had to guess, this storm wasn't natural, and was only a warning of what's to come. He quickly swerved his baby back into the right lane. The roadhouse couldn't be any closer, could it?

"If you're gonna talk all night, talk about freakin' Yellow Eyes. Where's he hiding?"

"Couldn't tell ya," the demon shrugged.

"And why is that?"

"Cuz his scent is everywhere."

"Everywhere? What?"

"Yeah, the dude's been marking his territory. Hey, did you know that a gypsy's eye could hold…"

A wonderful image of himself ripping the demon's jaw off kindly entered and exited his thoughts. He figured it was going to be like the first night he met the blubbering gadfly.

They were called Tracker Demons, whose specialty was in discovering long lost, hidden-through-the-ages relics, or, if need be, uncover highly secretive information. Dean had heard about them in route to Monning, Wyoming two months prior, following a lead about the YED stopping by a kid's house. The lead turned out to be a red flag. So before heading back home, Dean set up a trap inside an abandoned warehouse twenty miles outside the small county. Ash had given him a summoning spell and no sooner had he uttered the last word in Latin and the candle's flames blew up had a small man with thin hair and a bird's beak nose show up within the devil's trap he set up on the floor.

The demon took a moment to look around, raising an eyebrow, before looking down. "Ahhh man, this blows my whole day!"

"Sorry to hear that," whispered Dean emerging from the shadows.

The demon never showed an ounce of fear, just mostly curiosity. Dean moved in, began with the threats of extreme torture, but the gabby spirit, interestingly, never caved in. Whether strapped to a gurney pouring salt down its throat, or partly performing an exorcism (he always had trouble with the Latin), the demon incessantly ignored his questions and preempted them with offers for religious relics or Nike tennis shoes.

"Tell me what the plan is!"

"The name's Marco by the way…"

Dean let off a cry of frustration.

"Hey I can get you that skull of St. Luke over in that church in Greece for 25% off. I'll even include the hand as a bonus."

"Jesus, you don't know when to stop, do you?"

"Yea you're right! the whole head and hand thing is bogus anyway. Okay, how about a leprechaun? There's always a need for midgets with sticky fingers."

The end of a gun pressed into cheek.

Marco pursed his lips. "Ehhh, I'm assuming this is a clue to shut the yap?"

Dean gave a small smile. "You would assume correctly."

The attempt to force the demon into submission was futile. Dean went with another approach. He put in a call to Bobby, and over the phone, he read out a binding spell to attach the paranormal being to the hip. The way it worked: say Dean wanted a beer? Marco would have no choice but to zap to the nearest 7-11 and pick up a six-pack. It was the perfect undercover in Dean's operation. He needed a guy on the inside tracking YEDs movements, fill in the gaps in the grand scheme Caroline failed to give.

Only it came at a price.

The sacrifice of his friggin' sanity!

"…it's totally true. And they also say that when angels are around, you hear ringing, like church bells. How fitting, you know?"

"You're not helping me here!"

"I hearja. Head hauncho showed up and ya got caught with your pants down. He took your brother and threw him into a celebrity deathmatch against a whole bunch of demons. So what's the big d—"

"Whoa! What?" Dean pulled the car over. He rolled down the window a couple inches and swiftly grabbed the bottle of rum, raising it high.

"Hey!" cried Marco. "That took me eighty years, several booby traps, and a lot of one-night stands to have!"

"If you don't start talking, it's going out the window. I'm not going to tell you again, what the fuck is that demon up to?"

Marco's lip quivered as he peered longingly at his prize in Dean's hand. "You play an unfair game, you know?"

"Does it look like we're playing Monopoly?"

"Yes," he grinned, "Maybe…okay, I guess not." He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Fine."

Dean rolled up the window, but kept the bottle firmly by it.

"As you are well aware of, whatever plan he's up to, it's top secret. Only rumors are running around the mill these days. Something about a 'psychic army'…."

"Psychic army? So Sam's not the only one he took?"

"Ha ha ha, no. By far, not the only he took. We think that he visited them sometime when they were a knee high to a grasshopper and put a spell on them, tainted them somehow…"

Dean instantly thought of the night their mother was killed. The demon had come specifically into Sam's nursery.

"…with the number of demons rising, all congregating in the upper Northwest. We lower class demons think it might be some test for the kiddies."

"Why?"

"Why not? You want the best out of the litter, doncha? Any wimps on your side could be bad, you get me?"

"What kind of demons are we talking about?"

Marco shrugged again. "Same old, same old. Only Yellow Eyes upped their pay-grade, gave em' all raises. Which would be nice for all of us, especially in this economy…"

"How many are we talking about here?"

"A lot."

Dean huffed. "And I'm sure the bastard's got em' out in the middle of nowhere with no salt or iron. How the hell can they fight? What? Do they have superpowers or something they don't know about?"

"I don't know, maybe."

The panic began to rise in Dean's chest. The number could be limitless. Sam's odds of making it through were diminishing. He and their father had taught Sammy everything they knew about survival, but if there was an entire army out to get him and with no weapons, then how can Sammy fight them off alone? Often he wondered if Yellow Eyes had done something to Sammy when he visited him twenty-three years ago, but Sammy hadn't shown a single supernatural sign. Hormonal mood swings, yes. But non-human powers, no. Or maybe Marco was right. It was a test for them, a way of awakening dormant powers. Either way, they were knee-deep in a shit situation. There wasn't any time left. He had to get to the roadhouse. Only Ash can help find Sammy's location. And if Marco's intel was correct in that a ton of demons were coming together solely to kill off his brother or awaken something nasty within him, then there was no more time to waste.

"Good, now is that all you have come up with?"

"So far."

"All right, fine. Now get out."

"Huh?"

"You heard me."

"But it's pouring out, and these are Gucci," he pointed at his shoes.

"Then do your hocus pocus and zap ya some bubba boots. If YED is calling all employees, obviously the smart thing to do would be to clock in."

"Can't compadre."

"Why not?"

"You called me, remember? Probably now, they know I'm on your side."

"Well there's only one way to find out. You're a snoop. So go snoop!"

"Can I have twenty for gas?"

"No."

Marco sneered. "Fine, then I want my rum back." Dean tossed him the bottle and he left with a snap of his fingers. Dean rolled his eyes, wondering how much more he could take from this.

* * *

Everyone with a pair of feet ran as fast as they could. From what? They couldn't see. Two of their own were already dead, quicker than the blink of an eye. Any one of them could be next. Fireballs rained down upon them. One smashed a yard away from Alex causing him to run with his arms over his head. The heat was enormous.

The limbs slapped Sam's face. Their pointy claws cut his cheeks. The trees were beginning to blur together. He ran hard. Lessons with Bolt were really paying off. The house with the basement was the only thing he could think of. It was guarded. It was slightly protected. It offered a small chance of safety. Trying to think rationally at this time was absurd he thought. The instinct of survival urged him forward, failing to comply with reason.

Andy was a trooper, running right beside him. He called out, "The house!" And the mousy boy nodded, agreeing.

Right then an agonizing pain seared through his head. He let off a scream grabbing his head where suddenly it was like a home-made movie began to play.

_He could see all seven of them running through the dark forest, separate, but in the same direction. He saw himself making his way towards the house, not towards the basement as he had intended, but actually towards the front. He saw himself shout to the others and pointed to the spiral staircase that led up to the second floor. Six of the kids ran up the stairs, while Andy stayed with him and they both headed for a shed located on the side of the house, where piles upon piles of iron stakes lye. Then it cut to him and Andy hastily collecting as many stakes as they could carry. A shadow appeared over Andy's shoulder and skewered his head with one of the three-foot long stakes._

The home movie faded and he was thrust back into his own time. What the hell was that? A premonition?

Whatever it was, it gave him an idea.

"Andy!"

"What?"

They dodged another cannonball of fire, running around it.

"WHAT!"

"Is there a shed next to the house?"

"Uhhh…." He panted.

"Andy, is there?"

"Uh, yeah! Yeah, I think so! Why?"

"There's iron in there."

"How do you know?"

"I just know. We need to hurry!" He hollered to the others over the roar of the fires. "Everyone, follow me!"

Without hesitating, the frightened, breathless kids queued behind him and bypassed the entire town, ducking to the right as three more fireballs impacted to their left and center. As soon as they passed the Cold Oak bell landmark, the fireballs ceased to fly. Sprinting ahead, he led them to the side of the two-story hidden not far from the main part of town.

"Come on, come on," he pointed them towards the spiral staircase. "Get upstairs. Close and lock the door. Don't stop! Andy, this way!" He and Andy immediately ran past the staircase to the other side of the house, where as his vision announced, was a small garden shed, the rotten door leaning off its hinges. He ran inside and found to his liking the pile of iron stakes.

"Whoa dude, gold mine. How'd you know?" Andy asked.

"Nevermind that. Start grabbing." A bigger smile came to his face as he saw a couple of mesh bags in the corner that read "Sea Salt". Table salt. Brick salt. Salt was salt. He grabbed a bag along with a handful of iron stakes. Andy had his arms full, already retreating out of the wooden storage. It was then Sam remembered the last part of the vision.

"Andy!" he ran forward and knocked the man to the ground in time for a stake to hurtle fast and with a deadly intent towards them. It missed Sam's head by a fraction of an inch. It left a mighty sting. Andy fell with a big "oomph", the iron spilling from his arms.

The stake came from a demon, the exact same in his vision. He had long wet hair, a dirty complexion, and bedraggled clothing like that of a man surviving a shipwreck. He smiled, revealing eyes black as night and two sets of crusty, decayed teeth. Sam hopped up wielding one of the iron stakes.

"Come on!" he urged.

The demon stalked forward, raising a clawed hand. Sam leapt a couple feet and swung it like a bat. It connected with the man's head with a loud CRACK. Blood spurted across his face and neck. He swung again, smacking the other side of the head. The demon fell to the ground, still smiling. Sam didn't hesitate, he drove the spike down into the man's chest, pinning it to the ground. The demon merely laughed.

Sam backed a few steps. His eyes widened as it sat up and pried the stake from its body, tossing it aside. "Oh shit."

He turned around and ducked as a load of salt particles flew over his head. Andy had cut open the bag of salt and threw it into the man's face. Wisps of steam stemmed from its face and it curled away, shrieking.

Sam turned to Andy. "I thought you said it didn't work before?"

"It didn't. But it seems to be working now," Andy piped and he threw more. The demons' yells intensified. Rivulets of smoke drifted off its body profusely. It rolled, but Sam and Andy continued throwing more handfuls after handfuls on it, until it was quite still.

Sam had never seen salt do that to a demon. He knew it hurt like hell to them, but to this degree was a new one, even for him. Andy shrugged, hugging what looked like a serrated dagger with swirly carvings on the handle.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I just found it inside the shed next to the salt. That's what I cut open the bag with. It looks pretty."

Panting, Sam nodded his agreement. But it was weird to suddenly find a dagger like that in a backyard shed in the middle of a ghost town of all places.

"Was this guy one of the demons you faced?"

"No, I've never seen him before. We were attacked by a guy and a girl. The guy killed Dan."

Sam grew weary, slightly concerned of what they were facing. "Come on. Grab what we can and let's get back to the—" the breath caught in his throat as the same searing pain lanced through his brain. This time it was even more intense, heart-stopping. He fell to his knees. He heard Andy calling his name but it sounded so very far away….

This time the vision was short. It was of another demon, likewise dirty and disheveled, prowling the trees after their battle with the first. It remained hidden behind the shed as it advanced….

"Oh no!" he yelled drifting back to reality. A minute had gone by, maybe…or perhaps a few seconds. There was no telling. He said to Andy, "Another one's here. We've got to go n—" His body sailed through the air, landing in the turf beneath the house.

"SAM!" Suddenly Andy was lifted, what he assumed telekinetically, in the air, with his arms and legs spread out like he was being racked. His teeth grit together against the strain. His face burned bright and the knife he held slipped to the earth.

The twin came around the shed admiring the young man in the air, almost like he was a delicious piece of meat to be hung inside a butcher's shop. It wiggled its skeletal pale fingers and Andy cried squeezing his eyes shut. "SAM!"

At the sound of his name, Sam sprang into action. He rolled over to the spot and before the demon could react, he took up the serrated knife, and flung it at its chest. It struck perfectly into the man's heart. And then something happened neither was expecting…

Andy collapsed to the ground and watched, amazed. Bright red flashes beamed at the center of the knife, traveling throughout the man's entire body. His eyes were frozen in terror as the red flashes illuminated the soulless black eyes. It slumped to the ground, dead.

"Whoa, what a rush!" Andy exclaimed.

"What the hell was that?" Sam was so confused. He was relieved, but so terribly conflicted. "Where'd you say you got that knife again?"

"In the shed," Andy turned to him. "Not your basic garden hoe, now is it?"

"Damn straight." Sam helped him off the ground and carefully strolled over to the demon. Smoke unfurled from the knife's incision. He pulled it out and wiped off the dead blood, taking a closer look at the handle's engravings. Sure enough, a tiny symbol of a pentagram was marked at the curve of the handle. Curiosity won the round. He had to find out more about this knife. He had never heard of such a thing before…and how the hell did it end up inside that shed?

However joyous it was to have such a special weapon on their side, their victory was short-lived.

"Sam, do you hear that?" Andy asked, rather nervously, looking around.

He didn't need to hear it. He felt it. The ground beneath their soles shook rampantly. A strange sound pilfered their ears, like a thousand whistles were being blown. Sam ran around the corner of the house and saw in the sky a most dreadful sight. A dark, ominous cloud swirled and churned in the sky, emitting out purple strikes of lightning. A closer look told him that it wasn't a cloud.

"Andy, grab what you can. We have to go NOW!"

An entire storm cloud of demons were flying over Cold Oak, heading straight to their location.

* * *

_**Nebraska, three hours later:**_

The cover of night was impenetrable. But the Roadhouse shined like a beacon, his last great hope. The Roadhouse was a bar to an outsider, but to a hunter, it was a haven; a place for recuperation and intel. Ash, the weird, yet savvy with a computer, red-neck lived in the roadhouse. He had met him while passing through and decided to stop for a drink. It was Ash who had spotted him after his second glass of Southern Comfort, claiming that he once worked with his father on a hunt involving a crocotta. At first, Dean thought it was some type of sandwich, but then was surprised to learn it was a type of monster that happened to mimic voices of those who had died in order to manipulate their loved ones to kill themselves so that the crocotta could suck and feed upon the victim's soul. It was way too Dementor-like to Dean's liking. He was glad to hear the soul-sucker received an axe to the head, and that Ash was able to hack into the security feeds of the local market and delete the footage, thus helping John escape from the authorities.

See, Ash was what you would call a computer genius, a graduate from MIT with a knack for trouble. He can navigate through any cyber-system, highjack encrypted government material (if he wanted to), reprogram any traffic light controller (which he also iterates he stumbled upon by accident), and turn a robot into a real boy.

Okay, that last one was a bit of an exaggeration, but he's still good at what he does.

Ash was the first Dean called after Sam's abduction. He hesitated in telling about Bobby's passing but reluctantly did. Ash was just as devastated by the news as he was, having known Bobby for a few years. He immediately went to work on gaining a lead on Sam's locale. Dean just hoped that his magic fingers could already have found him when he arrived.

And just as he thought it, his hopes were dashed as he strolled into the empty barn-like bar, finding Ash hunched over his computer on the far back wall behind the pool tables clicking away.

"Hey Ash," said Dean, hopeful.

"Sup," replied Ash in a southern drawl. Everything about him screamed red-neck: overused cowboy boots, holey jeans, Def Leppard tee, pint of beer next to the keyboard, and a mullet. He never looked up from the laptop screen. Several pop-ups pilfered the background and quickly vanished. Dean caught sight of weather maps, local newspaper articles about missing kids, and articles about crop failures. They were from different counties from different states. None of it made a lick of sense.

"So I guess you found nothing."

"On the contrary, I found everything," he said now looking up. "Your source was right. This bastard has marked its scent all over the place. I mean the upper part of the U.S. don't cover it. Ya got kids missing, just like the way you described your brother gone missing, all the way from San Francisco to West Palm Beach."

"How d'ya figure that?"

"I cross referenced the weather patterns from November 2, 1983, the night you said it broke into your abode and offed your mom and the night you first encountered it right before your daddy went six feet under. He can be invisible to you, but not to me. He leaves pawprints."

"Such as?"

"You're looking at it. All this," he pointed to the computer screen, "are the damn parade trumpets. Anytime he comes into an area like these, lightning storms, cattle deaths, omens begin to happen all at once. You sure know how to pick the best to piss off. I can probably tell ya where he's been in the past thirty years."

"So all this is like his own personal cowbell? That's just…awesome. Are there any happening right now?"

"Oh yeah. From what I can figure Sam could be in any of three states."

"Well that's specific."

"Like I said, the bastard's been everywhere. And more demonic activity is growing exponentially, talking like full blown cyber war on the electronics. So I'd like to pinpoint it down to a specific town, but it's gonna take some time amigo."

Dean emitted a frustrated sigh. That wasn't the answer he was looking for. "What three states?"

"Anywhere between Wyoming, North, and South Dakota."

"That's friggin' fantastic," he muttered sarcastically.

"Go get yourself a beer brother. It's gonna be awhile." Ash offered, pointing to a kitchen behind the pentagon-shaped bar. Dean didn't need to be told twice. He went through the double doors and came back out with two Bud-Lights. Handing one to the computer nerd, who poured the bottle into his near-empty mug, Dean took his jacket off.

"Say Ash, I got a question for ya."

"Shoot."

"What do you know about angels?"

The clicking on the keyboard stopped and he received an inquisitive look. "Angels? What the f—"

"Yeah, angels. Know anything about em'." He took a long swig.

"Why? Been touched by Roma Downey recently?"

Dean shrugged. "Might have. So you know something?"

Ash laughed and he pulled up a stool. "Grab a seat. It'll be long and intense. Why the sudden inquisition?"

"Well, mostly all I want to know is how to catch one."

"Catch one? You've got some weird…"

"Is there a manual to look up?"

"Erm…get comfy."

An hour and a half later, while Ash had his computer set up on an alarm system if any of the omens they discovered popped up anywhere in the U.S., they spent the rest of the time learning as much about the feathery winged friends up north. Dean was dead certain that Caroline had to be angel. Marco's clue back in the car about "ringing" when an angel was around struck a chord. He remembered the ringing of bells when Caroline resurrected him. So if it were true, then that was one way of tracking her down, and hopefully an ally that could have a better way of getting to Sam.

The lore differed in various details, but basically angels were spawn of God, heavenly warriors whose job was to watch over the Earth. Granted, no one has ever seen an actual angel, just speculative witness accounts about voices whispering in their heads, guiding them to do miraculous things, or bright lights shining down, producing a feeling of elation. It even included a genealogical chart of the hierarchy of angels, beginning with Michael as the main archangel. Despite all the differing points, the lore all agreed on the same trapping skills, which included something they've never heard of before: Holy Oil from Jerusalem. If Caroline was what he thought she was, he had to have a way to trap her, force her to help him.

Yes, he was that desperate.

Now all they needed was someone who could find these ingredients without any hassle.

"Oh Marco. Calling aboard Marco," Dean called out to the ceiling. "Get your ass down here now." According to Bobby, the binding spells' mojo never waned until either he or the demon died.

Two seconds later, the demon materialized with a 'pop', bare-foot wearing baby-pink cushy toe dividers. "You couldn't have picked a better time. They were just about to start my toe nails!" He blew on his fingernails.

Ash gave a nod showing his approval. He looked at Marco confused for a second and then back to his computer.

"Whatcha need at this hour puddam? Gunpowder and a can of whoopass?"

"I wouldn't mind it," Dean retorted. "I need something. Can you get your grubby hands on something called "Jerusalem Oil"?"

The demon went rigid, almost serious for a second, before masking it with a confused look. "What you want that for?"

"So you do know where to find some?"

Marco was slow to respond. "Of course I do. I've got trade over there, which is lacking thanks to you. Why? Who're you trying to trap?"

"A former acquaintance. I need you to go pick up some right now."

"Oh come on," Marco complained. "We're staying, we're going. We're staying, we're going! Make up your mind."

"Go."

"Fine. Gone babe," and then he was off in a flash.

~o()o~

"How sure are you that this is going to work? This looks way too much like we're summoning a demon," asked Dean.

"Hmm, pretty sure it will work."

"I'm gonna need more than that."

"Okay, really pretty sure. If it works, it works, if not, then all well." The nerd replied.

They found a spot on top of one of the pool tables to assemble the summoning ritual. Marco stood by the spot with a ceramic jug, looking smug. Dean lit up a match and placed the flame onto the black candle set up on the wooden podium. The flame blew up about a foot into the air, showering sparks. The two men backed away and then looked around. Ash startled.

Standing in the middle of the oil ring was Caroline, pale faced, and puzzled.

"Dean?"

"Hey Caroline, it's been awhile."

"What's going on? Why'd you call me?"

"At least, now you finally answered. Just a sec," he motioned to Marco, who nodded. The demon then lit up another match and dropped it, the ring of oil catching fire.

"What are you doing?" Caroline shrieked.

"Like a dolphin caught in a net. I need answers, and you're not going anywhere until I get them." He said this cruelly, and then wished he could take it back.

"Dean, what the hell?" she gave him a dangerous look. The lights flickered and the ground began to shake.

Dean gulped. Guess they were about to find out what a pissed off angel can really do.


	6. Four: Immortal Guardian

**Chapter Four: "Immortal Guardian"**

**Song from Mighty Generation Music**

* * *

It was like an 8.2 Earthquake had struck the Roadhouse.

"Dean, I won't tell you again. Let me out!"

In good conscience, Dean could say this is not the first time a woman has been pissed off with him. There was that Lori Thatchette from Bradenton, Florida about six years ago. It wasn't entirely his fault. An Orthrus, a two-headed dog with a serpent's tail, was wreaking havoc in the small town, making snacks out of small children and the neighborhood's yapping poodles. He had followed his father on this case and it left no room for Lori. After his father called, he dropped her off on the side of the road and she was left stranded in the middle of nowhere with a broken phone and in hooker heels. By the time he had finished scraping ole' Orthie's brains off the street, Lori had managed to contact every big, burly thug in the downtown and established a bounty on his head.

Now that was pissed off.

He had never been back to Bradenton since.

But now, since it was apparent he had caught his 'dolphin' in its net, he began to feel rather nervous, like he had caught a Great White instead.

Caroline glared, the fire at her feet increasing the intensity of her eyes. Dean nearly lost his resolve, but he swallowed past the hardened lump in his throat. "Then tell me what I want to know."

"Know what?" she spat.

He clenched his fists. "Where is the Yellow-Eyed Demon?"

The fire inside the circle rose higher and the lights around the pool tables burst, startling Ash. "Whoa nelly, I just fixed those."

Caroline replied to Dean, "The Yellow-Eyed Demon? Really?"

Dean shrugged. "Where is he?"

Now this time there was no mistake about it, she was pissed. "Has it occurred to you that if we knew how to tap into that air-flight radar of his, my brethren and I would be fighting every day? Would we be having this conversation right now?"

"And by 'your brethren', you mean 'angels?"

Caroline huffed and then slowly clapped. "Wow, he _can_ be taught."

He blinked. For once, he was right about something. In spite of already believing that it was true, it never did mitigate the truth's blow. He felt winded. "Well you look hot for a cherub in diapers."

"You make me blush," she responded sarcastically, crossing her arms. "So all this is to catch me off guard, for an interrogation?"

"Well if you had come when I called you, then none of this would have happened."

"I doubt that," she countered. "Besides I've been rather busy—"

"I'll say. Too busy to notice that the freaking bastard that we're supposedly trying to find and stop has been all over kingdom-come, taking kids left and right. Too busy to notice that Sam is gone too? You went through so much trouble to keep him alive, and just to let him be taken?"

The angel froze. The earthquake ceased. "Sam is gone?"

"Slow on the uptake are you? Now where is he, or are we going to have angel soufflé?"

"He was supposed to be protected!"

"You don't think I tried?"

"Not you!" Caroline raged. "We had barriers around the house to mask his and your scent. And it became a little hard what with you rampaging across the country. We had to have extra units tailing your hind!"

Dean was stunned. A mountain block of confusion spiraled down and found its target on top of his head. "Did you forget to have a backup generator or something, cuz obviously it didn't work! He found us, killed Bobby, left me for dead, and took Sam."

Caroline grew grave. "Well this certainly has become problematic."

"No kidding."

"Sam's kidnapping only means one thing."

"What?"

**CRASH!**

All the windows exploded; a fierce wind ripping through the wooden walls. Alarmed, Dean and Ash turned to Caroline who yelled, "It's not me!"

Dean pulled his 9mm from the back of his jeans. "Then who is it?"

"You were followed."

"By who?"

His answer came to him in the form of black clouds – _demons_ – swirling around the ceiling. Though he knew it to be futile, Dean began unloading his gun. Caroline screamed behind him to release her. He refrained from doing so, in fear that she would leave. She was the only solid lead he had so far in finding Sam.

The smoke shattered chairs, the liquor cabinets along the back wall – which received a long groan from Ash –and upturned the two pool tables, scattering the summoning pieces. The wind gained speed and Dean found a hard time standing. Caroline continued to bellow, but there wasn't any time to deal with her. He was being pummeled from the smoke.

"Ash, where's the salt?" He swatted his arms out.

"Behind the bar brother!" Ash called back. He was nowhere to be seen amongst the rapidly spiraling demon entities. Then suddenly he heard a yell, a crash, and glass shattering. Ash was thrown behind the bar.

"Whoa! Come on boy!"

Dean fought his way around the giant pentagon, ducking from a bottle flying at his head. As he ducked, he found a shotgun with a box of salt-rounds. "Now we're talking!" He put a round in and shot it off. The cloud dispersed. He shot off again. The cloud moved faster, now moving out the window.

It was all over in a second, Dean was skeptical to believe. He looked eagerly at Ash, "Freak show."

Ash appeared just as confused. Looking behind Dean, an eyebrow peaked. Marco was sitting in a poker chair, cross-legged, and filing down his nails, humming Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train". Caroline sat Indian-style on the floor of her circle resting her chin in her palm, totally bored.

"Sorry, is this not enough entertainment for you two?" exclaimed Dean, heatedly.

"Let me out and I'll show you some entertainment," retorted Caroline.

Dean rolled his eyes. Sarcasm. He could dish some out, but taking it…well, that's another thing entirely. He came around the bar and strolled over to the burning circle. He said to Marco, "Did you call them?"

The demon returned an annoyed look. "You've got dibs on the binding spell. You tell me."

"Then how the hell did they find us?"

Caroline stood up. "Isn't it obvious Dean? The Yellow-Eyed Demon put a tracker on you, a spell that acts as a homing beacon. That way he can follow your every move. And with this latest turn of events, apparently he feels like you're getting too close."

"Or because we have you?"

The angel went silent. Then she said, "You had best release me now before they come back. And they'll come back in numbers. Those few right there, they were just the scouting party."

No sooner had she uttered that did the ground began to quake again, the lights flickered, and all the wooden doors shatter. Dozens of screaming men ran into the bar. Luckily Dean's reflexes were quick in that moment. It seemed that he pulled the trigger on the shotgun and didn't let go. Round after round, the pellets vanished into the oncoming bodies. One demon in long-johns ran straight for him and he buried the butt end of the gun into the vessel's face. It bucked back giving Dean a second to shoot it.

Other gunshots rang out on the other side of the bar. It sounded like a cannon.

**BOOM!**

**BANG! BOOM!**

The floor rippled beneath his feet like the wavepool at Water Country USA.

"What the hell does he have? A bazooka?" He quickly reloaded the gun as four charged his way. He shot them off in three booms! Grunting alerted him over behind Caroline and he saw Marco fighting off at least six or more, karate style. Never had it crossed his mind that the sniveling, ratty thief could be a master in martial arts. In two punches and three round-house kicks, all six were down, the smoky souls slowly drifting from the bodies.

Marco pouted. "I killed Bill. My bad."

Dean huffed. Even in a time like this, the demon always found humor in some way, shape, or form. He just reloaded the gun when a demon across the room swung his arm and soon he went sailing across the length of the room, careening into the smashed liquor shelves, falling behind the bar. The room began to shift, and he had to shake his head to eradicate the double vision. More of Ash's giant _BOOMS_ went off, adding to the pandemonium rollicking inside his head.

Shakily he rose up to his feet, swiftly bringing down a demon's head onto the bartop. It bounced back off its feet. He looked toward where Ash was and what was causing all the commotion. He blinked. Ash was throwing grenades…

_Grenades! What the hell?_

"Duck and cover brother. It's time to bring down the house," Ash yelled, pulling off the pin of the tiny device and tossing it over nearby Caroline. Dean ducked as the bomb exploded, but there was no fire. Several demons were blown off their feet, each with sizzling body parts. Confused, Dean looked to Ash.

"Ya might want to cover yur eyes," the red-neck nerd tossed another one, hitting a target at 12 o'clock. The demon burst into pieces. "Salt bombs bitches. My own invention."

"Ash, you're awesome."

The man smiled. "Oh don't I have something for ya'll." He reached down beneath the ice container and flipped a switch. Instantly the water sprinklers from overhead turned on. Wisps of hot steam poured off the demons closest to them. Holy water inside the sprinklers? Dean's smile widened. The demons wriggled and wormed and shrieked in agony, rushing out the doors and windows. All except the poor smucks stuck inside the two devil's traps hidden next to the main door and entrance to the kitchen, and over in Caroline's section, where the sprinklers were not working.

Caroline huffed irritably. "Oh come on!"

"Yea," Ash cringed. "Those are also on the to-do list." He snorted in amusement when Marco carried out a karate chop, knocking down another demon. "Right on Donkey Kong."

Dean didn't mind getting wet. Watching the demons try to flee and those who couldn't scream was rather justifying.

That was until the entire power shut off. The sprinklers cut off and the room went to black. The only light emanated from the fire burning around Caroline's feet. Both Ash and Dean exchanged glances. "This ain't good."

The horde of demons ran back in with Dean continuing to let off shot after shot. Ash ducked down and pulled out a _Nerf_ gun SuperSoaker. "Hope you're thirsty. Open wide bitches. Ahhhhhhh," he yelled, and he began to pull the pump rapidly. Long streams of water jettisoned out, hitting the moving volley of demon power. More shrieks emanated from the group and they backed off.

Dean reloaded, and then yelled. "Dude, we're in no-man's land. This won't do without the power."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Turn it back on!"

"Right, I'll just flip the breaker in the back."

Dean rolled his eyes, taking aim, and shooting two demons off their feet.

"Hold the fort." And Ash quickly flitted away through the kitchen doors, squirting the diabolic bystanders inside the tiny circle. Laughing, he disappeared.

~o()o~

A couple more demons rushed at Marco. He waited, and when they were about to tackle him, he slipped gracefully to the side, and both the vessels flew through the window. He turned around and waved, "Happy trails."

"Marco, is it?" Caroline called over the noise.

The demon whirled around. "Yes Buttercup."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay then," he returned his attention to the enemy.

"Hey!" The angel called hastily regaining Marco's attention. "Fine, you can call me Buttercup, I don't care. But listen to me, this is not random. He knows Dean's here, and I'm willing to bet, they'll keep on coming until we're all six-feet under."

Marco smirked. "Awesome, more to practice my skills."

"You're not getting what I'm saying. I can put a stop to this. They're low-level demons, barely a bleep on the radar screen. Why do you think there are so many of them?"

"Cuz the more the merrier to handle our awesomeness!"

Caroline scowled. "Dear Heavenly Father, his brain is a box of rocks."

"I hearja Buttercup. If I let you out, then you kick ass. Is that about right?"

"Yes."

"And what if this is the hedgehog's break of finally gaining a lead of finding his sweet, sweet sibling?"

The angel huffed. "I doubt the bottom-of-the-barrel trash he sent out will have any clue on where to find the psychics."

"You 100% sure with no guaranteed refund about that?"

"I'm dead sure. Now are you going to let me out, or are we all going to wait to melt?"

~o()o~

Just as Ash expected, the system's power was being tampered with. Two men in hunting jackets and ballcaps were messing with the powerbox. No biggie. If he could reach it, he could rewire the system's parallel unit, reroute it to the series powergrid they used for the hospital not too far from here, and tap into that power. The line was buried beneath the dirt. He knew that due to a gerbil, or perhaps a gopher (they all were the same to him), he found a year ago was busy digging tunnels and chewing through electricity wires. Several times he had had to come out and use it for target practice with his .22 rifle. He's a bad shot. So other times he laid out booby-traps to kill the damn thing so he wouldn't continue to fix the flickering lights (which automatically set all the hunters inside on edge) or recalibrate the credit card machines once cut off. But, as it were, the gerbil or whatever kept pulling a _Caddyshack_ on him and managed to evade every single trap.

He pulled out a grenade from his pocket, pulled the pin, and flipped the lever. "Hey boneheads," he called. The demons turned around. He threw the grenade and watched the demons take flight several yards from his destination, their carcasses smoking profusely.

"Flambéed! All right, you gerbil bastard! Dinner!"

~o()o~

_Oh come on, where the hell was Ash when you needed him?_ Dean thought callously.

There was hardly any light at all and the swarm kept coming. Flashes from the gunshots illuminated the demon's harrowing faces. The bartop proved a valuable barrier as one by one, demon after demon, crept crawling over. Each one that got near enough, he'd pump em' full of salt.

It seemed hopeless. There were so many. It sort of reminded him of the scene in _Aliens_ where the monstrous horde dropped through the ceiling and openly attacked Ridley and Hick's squadron inside the small, closed-off space. Only lucky for him, this enemy didn't kill by an extra mouth or have acid for blood. The gun clicked, signaling two empty barrels. He went for more rounds, but froze, noticing the box was empty. "Uh oh."

A strong fist latched onto his shirt and tossed him over the bar. He flew across the room, landing on top of a dining table, sliding across it, and careened into the wall. It was an understatement to say the wind was knocked out of him. Little Tasmanian Devils floated around his head. Before he knew it, the entire room surrounded him. Black eyes. Bloody noses. Really, really pissed-off expressions. Dean couldn't help but gulp.

A demon residing in a buxom-blonde female leaned forward and placed a very pointy boot on his chest. She had the face of a prostitute. "End of the line for ya baby."

"Suck it, you evil bitch!"

"Ooh, I like em' fiery." The evil bitch countered.

"Ugh, take a cold shower, will ya?"

The demon smirked. "Got a message from the boss," the devilish smile widened. "You're brother's in good hands, will make one hell of a mignon. But there's no need to have you screaming and kicking. He's already got enough thorns in his side with your feathery friends flying around."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. No matter. There's no one who can save you now."

"Except me," sounded a bold voice.

The demon stood up, alarmed. There, beside the possessed woman with her hand raised, was Caroline. A bright flare erupted from the angel's palm and the woman screamed in pain, a pulsating orb of electricity forming around her. The demon smoke flew from the mouth and dissipated. The demon was dead.

As the formerly possessed hooker fell, the entire ensemble of demon henchmen charged. Caroline stood her ground. A glimmer appeared in her emerald eyes, along with a wicked smile. She waved her hand and half of the demon spawn were lifted off their feet. She raised the palm of her other hand, and emitting out a tiny yell, the half standing were immediately killed.

A few shakily stood up. They raised their hands, too, aiming to use power of their own. It had no effect. Caroline ran towards the group, clotheslined two of them, and punched one in the gut. The man flew ten feet and smashed into the wall. Smashing in two demon's faces, Caroline raised both hands and released her power. Within a second, every last demon was down for the count.

Suddenly the lights turned back on.

Ash came stumbling back into the room with his squirt gun ready. He took a look around and saw all the motionless bodies. "Damn. Now that there is an angel."

* * *

The startling mass of demonic activity was moving in fast. Sam and Andy raced up the iron staircase and barged into the open door, closing it fast.

"Incoming!" screamed Andy.

The two girls screamed while the boys seemed lost and confused. Sam went to the skater and handed him the iron pegs. "Take these and start placing one on each of the windows."

There were four windows in total around the circular room they stood in. It was empty except for a dirty couch and corner chair. The room was connected to a much bigger room with rickety floors and damaged walls, also empty. It didn't look like much of a stronghold.

"Andy, spread the salt on the windows."

"Dude, I don't think this is salt."

"I don't give a shit what it is, spread it!" He took the canvas bag and raced to the first window on the left. "Everyone, take a stake. It'll harm them." Yeah, sure it was a lie, but there wasn't any time to be honest.

He peeked through the window and then worked faster until every window was sealed, and a line between the room and the hallway was made. The cloud wasn't more than fifty meters away, and it looked like they were about to collide with the top floor of the house.

"Everyone to a window." Sam demanded.

Not a single kid moved. They were frozen with fear, the iron stakes shaking in their hands, all except for the Catholic girl, who clung to the football player, Alex, for life.

"Now! Move it! Take the bar in your hands and place it against the wood paneling like this," Sam picked up a bar and placed it horizontally against the side panels.

"No way, are you nuts?" protested Alex. "I'm not doing that. You think you're all big and bad—"

"Hey! This is no time to measure dicks!" Sam interrupted. "A massive cloud of whoopass is about to hit any second. It's the best defense we have. Do you wanna die or not?"

The rest of the kids hesitated but when Sam raised his voice again, they moved to the separate windows.

"Get ready!" The cloud wasn't slowing down.

"Oh my God, I can't do this!" the soccer chick screamed.

"Yes, you can. Just keep a firm grip and don't let go."

The cloud was two meters away.

"Sam, we're gonna get through this, right?" Andy called out from the window one over from his.

Sam smiled. "Damn straight!"

And then the cloud hit.


	7. Five: Call to Arms

**A/N: Hey again! Just lettin' ya'll know that a lil' more of the mystery will be touched upon in this chapter. It will seem very similar to the show, but I must emphasize that it will not be the same plot line. That wouldn't be any fun, now would it? Remember I'm not making a profit off this. All characters belong to Eric Kripke and staff. I'm just having a lil' fun. Cheerio!**

* * *

**Chapter Five: "Call to Arms"**

**Song by Audiomachine**

The battle was over for the moment. But Dean knew that this latest bounty collection for his head wouldn't be the last. It marked the beginning of all harrowing events to come. The Yellow-Eyed Demon knew he was alive and wanted him dead. Obviously that meant that he viewed Dean as a threat, a frayed fiber that could quickly unravel the monster's scheme tapestry. He smirked, feeling glorious, but only for a moment. One of the many questions burning through his head was how did the demon find out? Instantly he spotted Marco searching the unconscious people lying all around the bar for concealed items.

Crossing over in three long strides, he pinned the unsuspecting demon against the wall. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"Eh? Lay off the 'roids man!"

"You are the only one who's been out and about lately. You told them where we are. You told _him_ that I'm still alive, didn't you?"

Marco rolled his hazel eyes. "Give me a break. I kicked sulphuric booty for you…and I could have just walked away if I wanted to, but I didn't. And if it weren't for the Halo over there taking names and kicking ass, I'd be on the Most Wanted list right now."

"He's right Dean. It wasn't him," Caroline called. She closed her eyes, calmly gliding her hands through the air. There was the sound of popping, and all the recently possessed people had vanished. Dean eyed her curiously. "Don't worry, I sent them all to the hospital. The staff there can use their imagination in how thirty people suddenly showed up in the ER." She remarked.

Ash sniggered. "Oh I can't wait to hear this."

"Get back to what you were saying," Dean asked the approaching angel.

"The clue was Sam's abduction," she began. "We had someone on post guarding the house in which you and Sam and Mr. Singer resided. We believe Sam is an integral part to the demon's overall plan, so it was imperative that he be kept guarded."

"Hmm, bang up job on that. So what happened?"

"Isn't it obvious? There's a traitor lurking nearby," her voice dropped lower, indicative that she wasn't a happy camper about this latest discovery. "Someone who knew about the spells we performed and how to break them; someone who wanted the demon to find Sam."

She stepped over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly he felt warmth wash over his torso, alleviating the profound itch on his left shoulderblade. She removed her hand, the warmth quickly receding. He looked to her puzzled. "I removed the tracking curse laid upon you. Now he won't know where to look." She backed away heading for the door. "Now then, I must head back to my command post; alert them of this set-back. We need to find this mole and quickly."

Dean held up a hand. "Whoa, hold it right there angelcakes. You haven't answered my question."

"Winchester, I don't have time for this."

"Neither do we! You're not leaving here—"

"And how are you going to stop me?"

"With this," Marco stepped forward brandishing a silver foot-long instrument from his inner pocket. It looked more like a metallic icicle.

The angel froze, eying the weapon with fright. "How did you acquire that?"

Marco looked down at it, "I bummed it off a guy named Ralph in the trade. He told me to keep it, said it could keep you guys off my ass for a while."

"Ralph? Surely you don't mean Raphael?"

"Maybe. Why? You know him?"

"I did," she solemnly looked down. "He's dead. Some of my garrison turned on him. They fled, those cowards. But none of them knew of the protection placed upon the Singer residence. That which you hold in your hand is a sword of an archangel. They are the only weapons that have the power to kill off an angel. And _only_ an archangel can carry them."

"Sweet," Marco beamed.

"I don't understand why Raphael would bestow upon you something so delicate. You're nothing but poor murderous traitorous sniveling fiends that are no better than parasites who suck the life out of its host."

The demon raised his eyebrows, genuinely intrigued by this insult. "All in that order?"

Caroline rolled her eyes and turned back to Dean. "I don't know where the Yellow-Eyed Demon is. We, as well, are scouring for his whereabouts, hoping to put an end to his parade of evasion."

Ash stepped forward. "Oh don't worry, we'll know soon. My radar picks up all kinds of weird."

"Ah, the computer wizard. Let me guess, omens such as cattle deaths, lightning storms, severe drops in temperature? Stuff like that?"

"Yup. Once this flying monkey touches base, we'll know where within a couple of minutes…"

"Yes, but only a range of thirty miles or so. Is that correct?"

"Uhhhhh…"

"That's what I thought. Try using an infrared scanner."

"Infrared, huh?" It was Dean's turn to interrupt.

"Because he travels through magic, and all sorts of magic gives off an electromagnetic frequency, sometimes radiation. It'll shorten the range to within a couple miles."

The nerd, pleased at this news, took off like a raccoon after a box of snackcakes, skidding across the floor to his computer.

Caroline moved an inch, and Dean immediately took up her hands. She fidgeted but stopped. He looked brazenly into her emerald eyes. "Caroline. I'm at my wits end here. You are my only hope of finding him. Just tell me what you know, anything, I beg of you. Please!" Seldom had he begged for anything in his life. It typically was punch first, ask the question later approach for him. But it had already been over twelve hours since Sam was abducted. Desperation was his only friend now.

"Please," he said again, adding in a little moisture in his eyes for good measure.

The angel pursed her lips. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"When it comes to my little brother, there is only one side I take."

She emitted a loud sigh, slowly shaking her head. Then when he was about to give up hope, she spoke softly, "Fine, but over here" – she crossed over towards the upturned pool tables where the ring of fire was recently wetted out. Hugging Dean close, she waved her right hand and uttered a phrase in Latin. From the tips of her fingers sprang to life a transparent shield, like a bubble, until it enveloped them both to the floor. He eyed her peculiarly –"Sorry, but too often there are weak-minded eavesdroppers around, especially your demon friend. I don't like him."

"Nobody likes him." Dean retorted. His voice sounded weird, as though he were underwater. Caroline's voice sounded like a dream.

"No, not like that. He's no ordinary demon."

"What do you mean?"

"He's not like the others. I can't place it, but something about him makes me highly suspicious, that he's far more powerful than he lets on."

"Well is he dangerous? Cuz so far he's been a pain in the ass."

"I can't be sure, but this shield spell should do the trick." She stepped away from him and sat on a stool. Dean picked up a fallen stool and sat across from her. "Alright, so," she clapped her hands, "from the beginning. As you well know, your father died."

"Huh? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything."

"Hey look, this was not my dad's fault. He—"

"I never said it was, now don't interrupt me again. I'm on very little time as it is. The Yellow-Eyed Demon has been planning something on a very large scale for centuries. And now as the planets are aligning, the veil to all three plains will be very thin, almost like you can see into each other's world…"

"Plains, like?"

"Heaven, high far above us. Then you have Earth, the middle ground. And then there's Hell. On a specific date, which we're very certain will occur in two months' time, the veil will be at its most weakest, and opened. If that happens, there will be a flood of both unnatural creatures from both plains pouring into this one and vice-versa. We think he means to open the portal to Hell."

"Why?"

"He wants a battleground, a chance to conquer Earth's inhabitants, pave the way for its ruler. The Earth will forever be covered in darkness with Hell's minions roaming its fields, feasting off its children, bathing in their blood. It'll throw off the balance and everything will be ensnared in a cloud of chaos. If he manages to find a way to open the doorway, life is over as we know it."

"Pave the way for its ruler?"

"Yes. All this planning, all this carefully calculated maneuvers, it's not for him. He's following orders Dean. And we think we know who it is."

"Who?"

"You ever heard of a fallen angel called Lucifer?"

"The devil?"

"Well, that's one of his many nicknames, but yes, we believe this is all a ploy to release him of his cage. Michael, our leader, cast him into the cage of Hell many millennia ago for mutiny against our father…"

"I've heard the story."

"Yes, I'm sure there are many versions of it. But he does exist, and we're not sure how, but some of our sources confirm that the demon has been able to communicate with a voice believed to be Lucifer. They said only an angel can communicate with the way he has."

"And my dad has something to do with this?"

"Your father was an integral part in beginning the breakage of seals to unlock Lucifer's cage. You see, there are many seals or spells, sometimes omens that strike like the thousands of fish found dead in that Louisiana lake. Each one is a lock to the cage. It was supposed to start with your father. The Yellow-Eyed Demon had made a bargain with him in exchange for your life. The deal was that in saving your life your father should die and go to Hell."

The inside to Dean's stomach felt like an anvil had dropped through it. "He didn't?" he gasped.

Caroline peered at him sympathetically. "We had underestimated your father's love for you. We were convinced that as a hunter he would choose to forsake you and put an end to the demons' evil. We were wrong. He made the bargain and was sent to Hell."

Dean bit his lip to keep the tears from flowing. "I knew it…well, I kinda knew it. I mean, it was so sudden. But still, I can't believe he actually did it. Played right into the bastard's hands."

"Not quite. The sole purpose for sending John to Hell was to break him. He was a just man, and the first seal to be broken that would start a domino effect for the others was for a righteous man in Hell to break, become evil. And he didn't."

Dean perked up, intrigued.

"He stayed true to himself Dean. He didn't fall as intended, so the seal was never broken. The chain was never started. Once we learned of this, we laid siege into Hell and broke your father out. He is now back in this world."

"Wait, so my father is alive?"

Caroline smiled. "Yes."

Dean jumped off the stool, spun around as if expecting his father to be there to surprise him, but was sadly disappointed to only find Ash on his computer in the far back and Marco doing handstands. "Where is he? If you freed him, then where is he?"

Her shoulders drooped. "We don't know. He took off, and we've been unable to sense his whereabouts."

Dean huffed. "That's typical dad. Only found when he wants to be. So wait a second. If he's out, why couldn't Yellow-Eyes just find somebody else?"

The angel's smile grew wider, "He would if we hadn't hidden them all. We angels have a very good sense of judgment. We scoured the globe and put invisible traces on good and just people, to mask them from any and all demons. In fact, he actually had his eyes set on you for a while, especially during the time before Sam's transplant. Told all his sales reps to make a deal with you at all costs, but thanks to that Crossroads Demon, she saved your behind and ours."

Dean swore his face went numb, evident by his jaw unhinging wide open. "Yikes, you're good."

"Not good enough I'm afraid. We're terribly confused by all this. If a righteous man is all that he needed to jumpstart the apocalypse, then why is he kidnapping the psychics? What is their purpose in all this? Why taint your brother all those years ago?"

"Plan B, maybe?"

"Definitely, but we don't know what that is. We're not sure if he mated with human women and thus they were born, or if he put a spell on them. Our sources haven't determined that yet."

Dean raised his hand. "I vouch for the spell, because my momma would never—"

"They never would have known it was him Dean. He's a demon, remember?"

Repulsive quivers wracked Dean's body and he felt on the verge to throw up. "Ugh, I'm gonna be sick. I don't want that in my head."

Caroline shrugged. "Sorry. With the increase in demon numbers, we are aware that Plan B is underway, which is why we are searching for the psychics right now. But we haven't had much luck."

"Marco says that all the demons are heading up there for this WWE death match, either to kill them, or wake up some dormant powers they supposedly have, use em' as a militia."

She seemed vexed. "Militia for what though? His entire army of creatures is waiting at the veil. If he is able to open the gate, there is no need for a militia. So what other purpose do they have?"

"You're asking the wrong person there chica."

"Soon the tiding of his misfortunes will reveal themselves to us. Unbelievably I believe the snoop is right. By using the demon force, they are attempting to awaken certain abilities no normal human has and use them. Perhaps on each other."

"So what does this mean for Sam?"

"Nothing good."

* * *

_**BOOM!**_

An explosion full of wood, wind, and voices flooded their ears. Everyone around the circular room all buckled from the onslaught. The storm cloud of demonic souls barreled into the top part of the two-story, aiming to knock it clean off, aiming to rattle the occupants inside, aiming to destroy both in one fortified strike. The wind the storm produced was that of a F2 tornado. A high-pitched whistling came with the wind as though they were listening to a freight train move by, along with the thousands of alluring voices circulating. It was very hard for Sam to hear himself.

"Whatever you do, don't move! The iron will protect us. Keep it steady," he yelled over the flurry. He emphasized this last part because the bigger the upsurge, the hotter the metal in his hands burned. When a demon soul would touch the metal, it beamed red. He pushed hard to keep the metal against the wood. The salt particles were spiraling away, the protection waning.

Andy had dropped his stake and was busily running to each window with the canvas salt bag, adding more sodium crystals to the lines. Sam smiled at this when suddenly he was overcome with back-bucking coughs. Tears sprang to his eyes, the pressure horrible. The metal stake was red-hot now, almost molten it seemed, but he didn't relent.

"I can't hold it anymore," he heard the remaining soccer chick yell. The bar was shaking in her grip, bright red, just like his.

He forced the last cough and screamed out, "Don't you dare let go. If you do, we all die!"

That cut the complaints short. The soccer chick hadn't said another word and continued to her post as the whole upper floor quivered beneath their soles. The rest of the iron pegs in the middle of the floor jostled and bounced, chiming a staccato tune. Andy was persistent, running around like a Jamaican Olympic runner. He was red in the face.

"You're doing great Andy," Sam yelled an encouragement. If he could keep occupied on the others, then perhaps he could keep his thoughts off the agony in his hands. There was a kid at every window. Alex, the stubborn football player suspended two irons whilst the Catholic girl, holding her own stake, hovered behind, watching the passing, swirling smoke. The nerd with the yellow bowtie stayed with the soccer chick helping her pin the stakes, while the skater boy held a window of his own, using the sleeves of his heavy sweatshirt to hold the two stakes in an X with one hand. In the other he had his skateboard and was smacking any black wisps that tried to get in.

Sam gritted his teeth, feeling the ache in his upper arms grow painfully. The cloud continued to smash into the house. It had Sam wonder if this was one steady stream or the demons were circulating around, attempting to find a way in.

Well, he didn't have long to ponder as soon the cloud began to dissipate, the make-shift barrier holding its own. Soon the gloomy sky came back into view with the moon barely shining bright, heralding the arrival of night. The wind died down, the voices were gone, and the last remaining scent of sulphur had vanished. Andy had just used up the last bit of salt from the canvas bag and he dropped it breathlessly. The salt lines trailing the windowsill were still intact. However, minutes had gone by and still everyone kept the bars up against the windows.

Soon the room was full of clanging metal as they all released the sizzling bars. Those whose hands held against the windows backed away, quivering. They were raw and shiny, covered in blisters; some hands were charred. The soccer girl quietly sobbed, rocking back and forth on the floor. The nerd sat with her taking her hands into his lap and examining them, while the skater boy stood by the window, unscathed. His sweatshirt was a smoking pile of debris, puddled beneath the window. Sam hid his own pain, not wanting to appear weak. He held his hands out and sat on the floor, pressing his back against the wall, allowing his head to fall. The first part was over, and it was a damn near miss.

"Way to go asshole!" Alex hollered at Sam, as he blew onto his hands. "Now we're all injured. How the hell are we supposed to fight them now? They can attack at any second. And our hands are burnt to shit."

Sam refused to answer. Yeah, that occurred to him too.

Andy stepped forward. "Cool it Nedermeier. The area is secure."

The jerk sneered, and said threateningly, "If you say one more thing to me punk, I'm gonna turn you into a pretzel and ram that curly head of yours into your asshole."

"Hmmm," Andy rolled his eyes, "Jock making nonsensical and entirely implausible threats. My God, our society has improved past the Neanderthal era!" He mocked.

Sam quietly laughed, thanking Andy for standing up to the jock so he could have his one moment of solicitude. His hands throbbed unmercifully. Briefly he snuck a look and bit his lip. Bits of blackened skin encircled the many blisters that were large, round, and puffy, full of liquid. It was agonizing to curl them inward.

Alex's words filtered their way into his head and his shoulders drooped. It was his plan to hold onto the iron. He had no idea that by touching the ethereal vapors of demons, it could be so hot. Now most of them were injured, with no water, no provisions to last them. They were in every way screwed!

Andy came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "How are ya holding up?" Sam showed him his hands. Andy took one look and let out a shrill whistle, "Not bad, eh? I think yours definitely takes the cake when it comes to being the worst. But don't beat yourself up. At least we kicked it in the ass!"

Sam had no idea what he meant by "kicking it in the ass". They all almost became shish-ka-bobs after that last siege. Half the group was injured and the other half scared out of their wits. All Sam could do was nod in agreement, appreciative of the optimism.

In the middle of the floor, Alex and the Catholic girl were whispering to themselves. It was a little hard to make out their conversation. But Sam's hands hurt so bad, he didn't care. This was just Day One. If they could last to Day Two, what's next? It was too disconcerting to even think about.

"Hey!" someone shrieked.

"What! What!"

"Oh this is too weird."

"What's weird?" Andy piped, searching for the speaker. Sam looked up.

"Oh my Lord, I don't know how, but I…but I…it just happened." It was the Catholic girl. She was ghostly pale, peering at chalk-white shaking hands. Andy looked between Alex and the girl, unsure…then…

"Whoa, holy batman in a g-string! How'd you do that?"

"What?" The others chimed in now desperately searching for whatever it was Andy was goose-egg-eyed at. Slightly shaking Sam stood up and peered down at the source…which turned out to be Alex's hands.

They were healed.

No blisters. No raw, scorched flesh. They were good and new.

"Celia, what the—" Alex was speechless.

Celia couldn't stop looking at her own hands. "I-I-I c-can't explain it. It just happened. Here," she turned to Sam and grabbed his hands, closing her eyes. And before he could blink, his hands were also healed, the pain gone. He, too, was astonished.

Celia opened her eyes and an enlightened twinkle shone in her eye. "Yes, so it is true. I can heal. Oh my Lord. This is…this is….a sign, I know it."

Even Andy couldn't roll his eyes at this one. There was someone, here, in front of them that could do what Jesus did. Any insult or derogatory remark suddenly erased off the tip of his tongue.

The girl splayed out her hands after healing the soccer chick's hands. "Yes, it's a sign from Jesus. Our Savior wishes us to survive, pave us a way from this plague of evil…."

Andy took a step back.

"Is there any other explanation?" she asked.

Sam sighed. Yes, there was another explanation and not a good one. He said, "Celia, I don't think it's a good idea to use this newfound ability."

The entire group now had eyes on him.

"I'm serious. This isn't natural. And typically, anything unnatural always leads to something bad."

"So what are you saying?" Alex challenged, "If we get into another jam just like we did five minutes ago and get really cooked, we're just supposed to suffer?"

"Yeah that's exactly what I'm saying. Look there's a reason why we were taken here. We were chosen. There's something inside us, all of us. It was given to us by a demon. And whatever gift this may be, using it is only going to open up doors to new things, probably more sinister. And then we play right into their hands."

"Oh look a cynic."

"Ugh, shove a dick in your mouth and listen to what I am saying," Sam yelled. "I've got a hell of a lot more experience with this stuff than you'll ever know. If she continues to use that power, it will turn bad."

"I will never turn bad," she screeched.

"You say that now," he glared. "But wait until it actually feels really good using it."

The jock now stood up. "You know, you are really bossy. You have no right in telling us what to do."

"You're right I don't, but if you want to survive—"

"You keep saying that, but guess what? We're here. We're alive right now, and thanks to her, we're not going to die from infection. Get real man. Obviously we're not in Kansas anymore."

Sam gritted his teeth. He wanted to give this guy a verbal lashing like no other. But there wasn't any time for that. They had to get ready for the next attack. "Whatever. You want to use it, fine. You just make sure you learn how to control it."

"Are you on crack man? She's the only one who has this gift. Stop talking like we're a part of some elaborate scheme or something."

"Oh but we are." Sam countered. "We all have powers. And if we use 'em, we'll be playing right into their hands."

"Oh let me guess, the demon's hands?"

"Yes."

"You're insane. All of that is just some made-up fantasy you invented to scare the shit out of us into submission."

Sam huffed. "Then explain how you got here? How do you explain those fireballs crashing all around us? Or the cloud of demons?"

"For all I know, this could be some really crazy dream…"

Both Sam and Andy started laughing.

"Dude, come on," Andy chimed in. "This isn't some rufied dream. This shit is the real deal."

The soccer chick and the nerd stood up. The skater boy stayed by the window, keeping vigil. The girl piped, "And what exactly is going on? Now that we have a minute, I want answers. You said a demon, but I don't believe you."

They all turned to her now.

"Well, first off non-believer, what's your name, or should I call you just that?" Andy asked.

"Lana," she answered, stiffly

"And yours," he asked the nerd.

"Dylan."

"Yo, by the window. What's your nomenclature?" he called to the skater.

"Just call me Skid, bro."

"Skid? Like skid mark? You admit to having that name?"

Sam nudged him hard in the ribs.

"Gotcha. Sorry. My name's Andy," he pointed a finger at his chest, "and he's Sam."

"Now that we're done with the roster," Lana exclaimed vehemently, "Let's get on with the show and tell."

"Ooh a Miss Eliza Doolittle, live from Kentucky!"

"Florence, actually, you amoeba!"

"Lana, listen," it was Sam's turn. "This will sound far-fetched, made up, or something incredibly off the wall, but it's the truth. This is real. It's all real. All the stuff in books, in the movies, the supernatural is real…"

Alex scoffed, but he ignored it.

"Look, has something ever happened to you? Something you can't explain? Like premonitions? Or you moved something with your mind? Or—" he noticed she froze. "Telekinesis?"

Her jaw opened and closed as though it were hinged. "I…uh…thought I moved silverware across my diningroom table. But it was only part of my imagination."

"Are you sure about that?"

She didn't answer.

"Ah, see. I've got it too, but more and more I can feel something inside me, like a warm, wiggling ball of snakes. Each minute it gets bigger and bigger, like it wants to burst. Can you feel that too?" He wasn't lying. He felt it the minute he arrived in Cold Oak. The number of exchanged glances told him all he needed to know. "See? It's because we were chosen to be part of a plan."

"Who's plan?"

"It's the work of a demon. My brother and I call him the Yellow-Eyed Demon, because, obviously, he has yellow eyes."

"Holy shit," Lana exclaimed, "You've seen him too?"

"We all have. He came to us as infants and did something to us. Like a spell, maybe, or something? I don't know yet. But part of that was choosing us for a destiny not of our making. He wants us here. He's the one who brought us to this hell hole, and he's using his demonites out there to hunt and kill us."

Listening intently, Skid kicked away the smoldering remains of his sweatshirt. He took down the lead bars and put them on the windowsill, unknowingly breaking the salt line.

"But why? What was the point in that?"

"That's what I said." Andy said.

"Because he wants our powers. He wants us to use them, become his minions. That much so far is obvious. But if we can stick together, we can get through this and defeat him."

Alex interrupted, "How? What are we supposed to do? We're locked up in here. There's no food. No water. Taking a look at this dump, I'd say nobody has been in this for at least two hundred years. How are we supposed to get out of here?"

Sam sighed, tiredly. "I'm still working on that."

The brute shook his head. "Oh my God, this is fucking bullshit. We can make a break for it right now instead of staying in this termite dunghole."

"Go right ahead and see how far you make it."

Alex growled.

"Knock it off, both of you," Celia jutted in. "Why don't we just take a minute and try to coordinate a plan. Alex is right Sam. We're sitting ducks up here. With no supplies, it's only a matter of time."

"Only unless we tap into our amazing psychic powers and blow out of this joint!" Alex mocked.

"That's not an option."

"Oh jeez, lighten up. It was a joke."

Lana panted, like she was near hyperventilation. "Oh my God, I'm starting to believe he's right. This is real. The man with the yellow eyes is real. Oh my God, we're going to die."

Andy turned to Sam, "And now they get it. Good job team."

Shaking his head, still in disbelief, Skid rotated back to the window…where he came face to face with a bald-headed man with bloody serrated teeth and coal-black eyes. In one swift movement, it pulled him easily outside the window. "AHHHHH!"

The group jumped in fright at the scream, and Sam darted forward. "Hey!" As he reached the window, another bald-headed man with purplish veins artfully strewn across the cranium popped into view. Sam instantly punched it in the nose, the body fell off. The piercing screams of the skater boy came from down below and Sam quickly caught a glimpse of several devilish fiends ripping into him, tearing an arm and leg off. He looked down and saw dozens more of the bald-headed men, each naked wearing only a loincloth, crawling up and across the outside wall panels. Quickly Sam returned back and fixed the damaged salt line.

"Is he dead?" he heard a squeak.

Solemnly, Sam nodded. "There's nothing we can do for him now."

"No, I don't think so. We're going out there and getting him back. We don't leave one of ours behind!" Alex said.

"Back off man. We're surrounded. They're just waiting for a single break like that to happen again. If you go out there, they'll get in."

"Get away from me," Alex pushed him back. "You can stay in here like a coward, but I'm going to get him back."

"He's dead you asshole."

"Yeah right. They want us alive to use our so-called powers remember? I don't care what you say. You're not the boss of me. I'm going—"

Tired of this guy's blabbering cakehole, Sam delivered a quick undercut to his jaw and the jock flew, careening into the wall. He landed in a heap, totally winded.

"Whoa, my man!" Andy went to fist-pump, but pulled it away when Sam ignored it and continued looking at the jock.

"I told you to stay away from the fucking windows. Anybody else have a problem with that?" No one objected. "Good. Now we're going to take shifts. These bastards love to roam at night. In the morning, we need to figure a plan to get out of here."

After that, silence fell among them.

* * *

**So, what do you think so far? The chapters are going to become rather intense from now on. Hope you enjoy.**


	8. Six: Darkness on the edge of Power

**Chapter Six: "Darkness on the Edge of Power"**

**Song by: Immediate Music**

* * *

_Two Days Later:_

Sam sat in a corner against the wall studying the demon-slaying knife they found just days earlier. Aside from the pentagram necklace he wore with an exorcism passage, this was the only valuable weapon. Though he was quite relieved that it had the power to fend off Hell's most wanted, his mind was flooded with questions. He searched for any sort of clues that could identify the maker's mark and an explanation for its current power. All he managed to find was a pentagram and the initials "M. C." carved into the hilt. Celtic swirls and patterns were engraved along the blade.

The others were all huddled together in the middle of the floor inside a ring of salt. It was impossible to persuade them otherwise. Andy, carrying an iron stake across his shoulders, stood outside the window, his turn to keep vigil. Mostly it was just he and Sam that took watch. The others were too scared out of their wits to remove themselves from the salt ring. And it was now Sam's turn to rest.

"I'm so hungry," he heard one of the salt inhabitants say. The voice was barely audible to make out who it belonged to.

Their objective after the demon storm was to make a plan for escape, the priority to find food and water. They had asked Andy how he had managed to stay alive for over two weeks. His answer was less than serene.

"Uh, honestly guys, I haven't eaten anything since I've been here." He nervously ran a hand through his hair, glancing away from all the eye-popping looks. "I can't explain it either. The last thing I remember I had was a batch of sea-salt fries I snuck from my job."

"You're lying! There's no way!" Alex nearly cried.

"I'm not kidding. It's gotta be that power Sam was talking about. And the truth is, I'm not hungry right now."

Alex threw his arms up in the air like a raving lunatic. "Well that's great. Mr. Pinata is always full and we're left to starve. Great plan Mr. Leader," he threw this at Sam.

"Hey this is the first I'm hearing about this," Sam countered. "Maybe we'll just nibble on the salt for a little while. That's the best we got so far."

"Oh that's terrific. If we don't starve, we'll dehydrate to death. I'm looking around. Do you see any water?"

Sam was nearly at his wit's end, but it was Andy who saved him from this spot.

"Actually, Dan and I, we did find water. That well over there isn't totally dried up. We kept a batch down in the basement."

"Awesome Andy. That's awesome." Sam piped. "You guys stay here. Andy and I are going to go get it."

"Really?" Andy eyed him wildly.

"Really! Let's go."

Finding their way through the dilapidated house didn't take long at all. Sam took the knife while Andy carried the iron stakes they came to adore. Obviously they expected to run into trouble passing through the house, but surprisingly hadn't. Not a single demon or monster was in sight. It terribly confused Sam, considering the entire house was plastered with monsters like flies on a flytrap.

They eased themselves silently down a rickety staircase located just down the hall from the circular room the group was in. At the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in a kitchen, or mainly a room with cabinets and a fireplace with a pewter cauldron left inside. Andy thought it be a good idea to search the cabinets in case there were any morsels of food (which Sam knew to be ludicrous, considering that food, if anything, was before the time of canned goods, and wouldn't be good to eat otherwise, but he kept his mouth shut and helped scour the cabinets). They found nothing but dust, as expected.

The door leading to the basement luckily was located next to the stairs. Quietly they slipped through, careful of any creaks, slowly inching past the suspended equipment to where a bucket of dirty water sat underneath a worktable. The two hadn't said a word, instead using gestures and head nods. They hurried back up the stairs to the others.

It didn't take long for half of the bucket to vanish. Since then, everyone nibbled on bits of the salt to quiet their stomachs and sipped from the bucket.

Sam felt he had no choice but to nibble on the salt particles as well, especially since that was a major "no-no" on his diet. But he figured, if they couldn't come up with a plan to escape, they were all dead anyway. He was surprised at this point the Yellow-Eyed Demon hadn't shown up and divulged his plans to them. This was _his_ party after all. And what about the different type of demons? He had never seen monsters such as these.

The knife rotated between his fingers as he zeroed in his focus. The answer wasn't coming to him, and he supposed he was too hungry and tired to really concentrate.

Suddenly the same ear-splitting headache slashed through his frontal lobe and another "home-made" movie began to play. Only it wasn't just one this time:

_There was a boy and a girl, young, perhaps in their twenty's or so, and they sat huddled together on the ground in the woods with a campfire between them. They were whispering to one another. He couldn't see their faces, only their backs; the girl's long braid behind her. She flattened out her palm and there a fireball lit up, hovering. She gave a deadly smile to the boy, who mirrored her own. Out of the whispers he only caught two sentences:_

_"The time of Nostradamus is almost here. Are you ready for it?" _

The vision quickly shifted.

_He was in a city of ruins. Buildings lay in shambles, streetlamps curled over, with layers upon layers of dust and cement debris. A street sign __**Collard**__ protruded from the rubble. _

It shifted again.

_Now it was of the Yellow-Eyed Demon, in the male vessel he last saw him in. He was sitting in a high-back chair at a dining room table, a man beside him, draped out in the chair with his throat slit. The demon had a cup in his hands, a silver chalice with skulls and crosses engraved on the sides. Inside the cup was thick, red liquid, Sam assumed was blood – probably from the dead man. Creepy whispers sounded from the cup. He said into it, "Yes, anytime now. The last batch is hidden inside the top part of one of the village houses. They have a hunter's son in there and so are highly protected. My forces are waiting them out." More whispers. "No worries. They'll fall under with the rest of them. There are six left. We have the ones we need. We'll be ready soon. You just do your part and I'll do mine. Be ready when Nostradamus arrives."_

It ended. Sam had no idea he was shaking and sweating when he woke. The group was still the same in the circle and Andy was still keeping vigil. None had noticed he had passed out or was experiencing an otherworldly phenomenon. So the Yellow-Eyed Demon was working with someone else? Who that might be? It was impossible to guess. Aside from that, but now he knew who was behind those fireballs. Andy had mentioned to him when he and Dan used salt and it didn't work, it was against a guy and a girl. Somehow Sam realized they weren't demons. What they were? Yeah that was also impossible to say. But he also knew he'd be seeing them real soon.

Over in the circle, Alex stood up. He said out loud, "I can't do this anymore."

Everyone looked to him.

"I mean it. I'm not waiting around here to die."

"Alex, stop." Celia whispered through her cracked lips.

"No." He stood his ground. "We've waited up here long enough with no plan on getting out of here. We're just starving to death. At least if we go out there, those things will give us a quick death."

Sam stood up, swaying slightly. He was feeling faint. "Don't go anywhere Alex. That's exactly what he wants."

The hot-head stepped out of the circle. "I'm done taking orders from you. You are the one who wants us here. You are the one who's killing us. Living off of salt? No one in their right mind can do that!"

"You've got a better idea? If you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a barren wasteland. There is nothing here. If we leave now, they'll capture us."

"Sweet! Then we'll die faster."

"Who knows what they'll do. What I do know he only wants a few of us."

This all seemed to pique everyone's attention. "How do you know?" Lana asked.

Sam was afraid he had let slip too much. "I…I just know…"

"That's not good enough. You're a part of this, aren't you?" Alex questioned. "You've wanted us here the whole time to kill us off one by one, haven't you?"

"Shut up. You're being an asshole right now coming up with ridiculous nonsense."

"No, I don't think so. There are crazies everywhere and they do shit like this to get their kicks. You kidnapped us, brought us here, and are now trying to kill us!"

The rest of the group all stood up and huddled with the jerk. Andy came over by Sam. "Dude, chillax. Sam has got nothing to do with this. I was here before he was, and we're all dealing with the same shit. Okay, sit back down."

"Hey, jerk off. Shut the fuck up before I break your legs!"

"Knock it off!" Sam clamored. "Going out there will only get us all killed. If you want to hit the road, do it. But don't bring it down on our heads."

Alex sneered. "Piss off. You're not the boss of me. No one is, and no one will ever be." He crossed over the salt line and dragged a foot through it. "Oh looky here, I crossed it." He spun around mockingly. "Oh wait. I'm not dead. No demons yet."

"That's cuz we salted the house while you were sleeping you moron!" Sam remarked.

"Is that so?" Then he crossed over to the window, took out the iron stake in the window and pointed his finger threateningly over the salt line. Sam and Andy both sprung forward, stopping when Alex moved his finger close to the line. "One more step and I'll break it."

Andy screeched to the ceiling. "Why are there always idiots in every group?"

"If you want to live, take that back." Alex declared.

"Well, you're threatening to kill us all with one finger…so you might as well keep the title," Andy argued.

"Alex, stop. You don't know what you're doing."

"Oh I think I do. I'm not going to see us all die slowly. This ends now." He dragged the finger across the line. Sam and Andy crossed back and fixed the salt line in the room. Alex went to the next window and did the same thing. Suddenly Sam began to have a suspicion if this guy wasn't a guy at all, but one of _them_, working to get them all to do what YED intends for them to do.

"He's right." They heard a voice behind them. It was Celia, the Catholic girl. She crossed to one of the windows and pulled out the bar.

"Don't tell me you've gone bonkers too!" Andy exclaimed.

"They're delirious, infected with fear," Sam said. Yes, he thought that came out a little corny too. "Stop it. You don't know what you're doing." She damaged the line. Sam ran forward…and that's when it happened.

The entire back wall behind Alex exploded, showering him in wood pieces and dust. He ran back meeting with the others, a terrified look shining in his eyes. "What do we do? What do we do?" The girls screamed as the second wall beside also fell to pieces. And soon hisses and voices and pops sounded, and dozens of demons fled into the open spaces. But it wasn't just demons.

Werewolves and Cherries (demons who appear like children) ran is as well. The group screamed and Sam threw himself into the fray, fighting back as many as possible, his goal to push them back out the wall. It didn't work. Two Cherries leapt up and knocked him to the floor. He rolled them off quickly and regained his stance, brandishing the demon-slaying knife. Plunging the blade into the chest of a black-eyed woman, the red flashes began and it slumped to the floor dead.

Andy had two weapons, the metal bar he clung onto as if it were his baby, and an iron skillet he found in the kitchen. He swung them both like a pro. He cried, "Hey, I think I'm getting the hang of this!" He smashed the flat end of the skillet into a cherry, cracking its skull. A demon man came by and threw him off his feet. "Or not."

Sam tried to help the others as much as possible. Alex fought against two demons while the two werewolves encircled Lana and Dylan. They were quivering mad. Celia, on the other hand, stayed in a ball in the corner as a demon approached her. Sam ran forward and stuck the knife into its back, instantly retracting the blade and sticking it into the neck of another. He told Celia, "Get up. This is what you wanted. So do something about it."

More screams echoed in the clearing. A werewolf had Dylan pinned to the floor, its head falling to take a big bite. Lana screamed "stop" holding out her hand. Suddenly the beast froze centimeters from Dylan's neck. The boy lifted the creature off of him, and it sailed right out the window. They exchanged puzzled glances. Then a Cherry raced up to the two of them with its claws withdrawn. She cried out "stop" again with her hand raised and just like the werewolf, it, too, froze in its tracks.

Alex wrestled with five or six demons in a flurry of arms and legs and a lot of dust. Suddenly Alex threw out a hand and the five or so launched into the air. He waved his hand again and two of the demons' heads exploded, splattering the wall in brains and blood. He didn't seem to be confused by this, so he kept going, battering his enemy's brains in.

Andy's head popped out from behind the moth-eaten floral couch. A cherry had crawled down the wall overtop of him. He shrieked and said out loud, "Vanish heathen!" And it did. "Oh my God," he exclaimed, confused. "It went 'poof'. What the fuck?"

After slaying three more demons, Sam saw to his astonishment all that was happening. And it was true. YED had wanted them together. He wanted to put them into a corner, to awaken their powers out of dormancy, not because that was the way, but because he had to do so in a quick fashion. So far he had visions. Are visions the only thing, or are there more to come? He was right. This was the first round. And if they get through this, what comes next?

He heard whistling. The same type of whistling from the forest when the…and then he remembered the vision that hit him as he was sitting on top of the pile of dead bodies…it was another fireball…heading straight for them.

"Everyone hit the deck!"

But they didn't have to. Celia walked out ahead of him, threw up her arms, and created a shield. The fireball hit, the colossus fire spreading outwards as though it hit saran wrap. But nonetheless they were protected. She turned to him with a weird smirk.

A demon was behind him. Sensing it, he thrust the dagger behind and caught it in the gut. The man fell down dead ensnared in red lightening. He whirled around ready for the next one. Alex swung a hand out and destroyed two demons, knocking their heads clean off. Over to the right, Lana used her apparent 'mind-control' abilities to force the werewolf to kill the last remaining cherry. Dylan now had the element of speed. He raced around collecting all of the bodies and dumping them out of the window.

Instantly Sam harbored immense bad feelings about the whole "coming out" party, even though they were winning this fight. It blossomed from seeing the glint in each of the group's eyes and their insatiable war-hungry grins. He wondered if he had one of his own, and prayed he didn't. Because the last time he'd seen a look like that, it came from the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

* * *

"For crying out loud, it's been over two days! There's got to be something!" Dean's blood pressure, he was sure, was far beyond the hypertension threshold. He had been stuck at the Roadhouse for the past two days, pacing; waiting on Ash's computer to pick up on something; waiting on Marco to come back with more intel. And so far, nothing! Where the hell is this freak? The demon had to be in circulation. He had no other avenue aside from Ash to look. And it wasn't like Caroline was a big help.

She had given him a fair decent amount more than he expected, but the level of tension hardly mitigated. Instead it increased his anxiety, his desire to find his brother all the more. It was like darkness was around every corner with no promise of light ever returning.

Before taking off in a flash, she had revealed that the reason why she was so vague before was that certain angels were listening in, and in a time like this, it wasn't very certain who they could trust. She went through great lengths in his resurrection, which nearly cost her life. Since then, she had to lay low and refuse to beckon each call. The goal was to keep him and Sam safe. By showing up when Dean called, it would risk their safety as well as hers.

And that explained why she was so pissed off when they performed a summoning ritual and she didn't have a choice but to obey.

"I'm sorry Dean. I really am," she said. "I'll return to you when I can."

"Wait a sec," he urged, "there are still some things I don't get. You said before when you first pulled me back from Death's door that we were chosen, that supposedly our destiny…"

Yup, as expected, he was cut off by her leaving, leaving him to stew on the elaborately vague info she divulged. And it was driving him nuts!

During the course of those two days, apart from waiting to hear ACDC's _Hells_ _Bells_, the chime that signaled YEDs touchdown, he decided to scour the U.S. for whereabouts of his dad. Flipping through John's journal, he placed calls to nearly every hunter listed. Only a quarter answered. To a few, like a mean old coot named Rufus, he had to concoct an elaborate lie, implying his father didn't take a plunge into Death's waterpool, and only pretended to keep the authorities off his tail. And once more, his father was like smoke, conspicuously present but unable to grab. He had to bite the bullet for this one.

_Remember, Dad is only found when he wants to be found. _

Anger manifested beneath his skin. It irritated him to high hell when the man did this. And at a time like now, he needed John more than anything.

Meanwhile, Ash had given him information concerning other kids around Sam's age also disappearing around the same time Sam was taken. A kid from Olgden, Idaho by the name of Alex Desmines, a scholarship recipient to a football program at Idaho University went missing, same style later that day. In the news articles, there was a picture of Missing posters with Alex's name plastered to every powerpole, the article spread underneath it was full of the mother's pleas to find him. There were more articles just the same about several others in different states. There were two soccer teammates: Lana Leighton and Mona Miller. They vanished during one of their evening soccer matches. No one had an explanation. Another kid by the name of Dylan Rycliff, the president of the chess and robotics club went missing from his dining room table the same evening.

Dean had no idea if these kid's disappearances had any connection to Sam's, though it was very plausible since they disappeared much of the same way. And those weren't the only ones that seemed to have vanished. Within the course of two months, they had over a hundred disappearances. Kids all the same age of twenty-three, but born in different months. Aside from the trademark abductions and their age ranges, they were nothing alike: Kids from all ethnicities, from different backgrounds. It made it hard to figure out the demon's MO….

…Until Ash delivered the next set of juicy news. It turns out all these kids had a history. Several were drug abusers, came from abusive families, others lost in the social work system. There was no end in sight when it came to the paperwork. One thing Dean was able to figure out, these are the kind of kids, when given a bone, they'll take the first bite. These were kids mistreated, bullied, had low self-esteem, the list went on and on. He was sure that if given the option of changing how they felt about themselves, changing their destinies, they would take it without hesitation. It was the perfect plan. Instead of them fighting against him, if they open up to their powers, they'll welcome the demon with open arms. Having unnatural power that no other human can have; Dean wouldn't be a bit surprised if they become power-drunk, addicted.

And that can be a problem.

He wondered why Sam would be chosen in all this. Why would the demon choose his family and their infant son? His parents weren't abusive. His father, after Mary was killed, went on a revenge rampage, but he never threatened them or verbally or physically abused them. They weren't damaged. So why?

None of it made any sense. Unless his parents had some sort of secret he didn't know about. He huffed. That could be any number of things.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ash.

"Ah ha! Gotcha ya daisy bastard." Ash exclaimed. Dean leapt from his barstool, some papers fluttering to the floor. Ash turned the computer towards him. "It's lighting up like Fourth of July came 'round again."

It was true. The screen showed a weather map of the U.S. with several other pop-up screens with green numbers. Dean took a closer look and saw a red highlighted area over the southwestern part of South Dakota.

"See all this," the red-neck geek swiveled his finger, "it's infrared like the angel on your shoulder said. It's lighting up fast. These also indicate more of those omens we found earlier. He could be anywhere in this range."

Dean gave him an expectant look.

He replied, "Looks like Daddy's home."

"Let's go."

* * *

**A/N: I don't mean to offend anyone who has had a past of being abused, are affliliated with drugs, or are offended overall by this story. The psychic characters (whom you will all meet very shortly) portrayed in this story are not based on anyone, but are considered to be weak by their pasts. I've made it this way for a reason. In reality, not everyone who has been hindered is weak and are inclined to commit violence,evil, etc. That is not the moral message here. Aside from that, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'll have the next one up soon. **


	9. Seven: Darkness Growing Inside Me

**A/N: Here's the next chapter ya'll. Thought I'd give ya something for the weekend. What did ya'll think about the premiere last night? I thought it was okay. It didn't give a lot in terms of what the story arc for the season might be...although my mother seems to think that Dean has turned into a monster. Sounds interesting, so I'm definitely tuning in to next week. Who's with me? ;)**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: "Darkness Growing Inside Me"**

**Song by: Dark Secret**

It sounded like cannon fire. Sonorous _booms_ rocked the withering stronghold the group stayed in. Trouble was here. Sam could feel it, like a sixth sense he always thought he had since he was a child. Black, angry clouds swarmed the sky. Bolts of lightning struck the ground every few seconds. With every strike, the house quivered, threatening to collapse. He felt faint, a symptom of his failing heart he was sure. He sat in his favorite corner overlooking the room, persistently wiping the sweat from his eyes. His stomach groaned from emptiness. He had barely eaten anything for about a week, and the water Andy kept stored, he was equally sure every parasite, discovered and undiscovered, lurked in his body.

Boy, what would he give for a hamburger right now?

He kept glancing up, hoping to see a few frightened faces of the storm, a brief reminder of them before the changes. But instead he found the group relishing the cataclysmic storm. The hope that these people would keep their innocence deteriorated.

It was three days ago when the siege took place. The "siege of the tower" the group called it. Though they rested in no tower; to the newly empowered troops, it sounded cool. Like they just survived a nuclear bomb and therefore felt invincible.

Only Sam and Andy knew it wasn't cool, and they sure as hell weren't invincible.

Over the course of those three days, Lana, Dylan, Celia, and Alex had begun practicing whatever mental abilities that came with it. The looks of astonishment never faltered as new doors opened themselves up. Aside from telekinesis, Dylan learned he could run fast. And not as in Jamaican Olympic speed; more like the comicbook character **Flash Gordon** speed, therefore adopting the nickname _Flash_. After making a few rounds inside the house, he opted to go outside. Before anyone could object, he left and wasn't back for several minutes.

Sam and Lana waited with bated breath while Andy whistled the scarecrow's tune "If only I had a brain" from the _Wizard of Oz_ sitting on the couch. He arrived back barely panting. Other than a "whoa, that was cool" he said he tried running as fast and as long as possible and there was no end in sight to the forest.

"Miles," he said. "It just keeps going on for miles. If there was a way out, I would have found it. It's either that or somebody is trying to keep us here."

"Boy! I wonder who that could be," Sam retorted.

Since that moment, Flash became the anointed "grub runner". His mission: find anything with more than two legs to hunt. At best he came back with squirrels and a rabbit. To cook them, Lana learned she could electrocute. So with each kill, she touched the furry critters and seconds later everyone was served hot, juicy dark meat. Sam took no part in the meals. He felt a certain unwelcomeness with the group.

Alex seemed to have the power of strength. He could crush a cement block in one squeeze. And speaking of squeezes, Celia had the ability to deflect certain objects. She couldn't levitate, but that forcefield she is able to conjure sure came in handy for that flying fireball earlier. Andy tried to stick behind her on occasion, especially for moments when he was most jumpy. Every night choruses of salivating fiends roamed like wandering zombies anxious for the kill outside the house. Any who tried to break in, like say those creepy bald-headed things that ate Skid, Andy would say "vanish heathen" and they would disappear. Flash relayed after his runs there were about ten or so of those things, he calls "Sidewinders" because they tended to move with their hip in the forward position, and they acted more like malnourished chimpanzees than anything else. They followed him out, moving fast, attracted by the smell of raw meat. In fear, he broke a few critters necks and piled them up, keeping the fiends at bay and away from camp.

Although he somewhat admired their prowess for controlling their abilities, Sam carefully gauged each one, making memos on the ones likely to turn first. He hated to be pessimistic, but he knew all too well that the feeling of power is intoxicating. He predicted Alex to be the first to turn when given the opportunity. No matter how many leaves that guy turns over, he'll never like him.

Still, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. That foreboding feeling about using these supernatural powers remained with him. While their powers served its uses in finding better food products than salt particles, he knew it would change very soon. The urge to use his own, whatever they may be, grew stronger the more the other's practiced. He panted just thinking about unleashing his full potential. Silly fantasies of opening himself up to the hidden dangers lurking within came to mind. He imagined that he was the most powerful of the entire group (he had the ability to kill his foes with a single blink) and that he didn't turn evil. He marched straight up to the Yellow-Eyed Demon, in the same vessel he last saw him in, and said "hope you brought plenty of sunblock, because you're going straight back to hell" before killing him instantly, thus ending the upcoming war.

Ah, it was a nice daydream.

But as it were, daydreams weren't reality. This was reality, the stone-cold bitch of it. He was a sitting duck with a frail body, refusing to give into his "demon-given" abilities –albeit if the visions are out of his control—trying to maintain semblance in the group. It was inevitable, however. It wasn't like he didn't try to warn them. Giving in to these powers would sooner or later consume them, and they'll cease to be the people they once were. He felt nauseous.

Not again?

_If I vomit one more time!_ He thought callously, embarrassed by his weakness. Since the siege the looming feeling of lousiness strengthened. Several times he had to duck out of the room to release whatever contents he had in his stomach. A fever struck. And there was a small shake in his hands. If he didn't acquire his meds soon…well, just add that to the list of things not to think about.

Suddenly a rather intense burning sprouted in his chest. It wasn't heartburn, nor was it a heart attack. This was a feeling, a feeling of impending doom. His body gave way and he leaned over and retched, gritting his teeth. Perhaps that created the burning sensation? But Sam knew instinctually that wasn't the case. The burning in his chest remained. The storm roiled fiercely, the wind picking up. Something was coming. But what?

And then it dawned on him.

No sooner had he figured it out when there was cracking. Lana and Celia screamed as the walls splintered around them, showering them in pieces. The groaning grew deafeningly and then the whole roof uprooted, leaving them all in the open.

Instantly everyone gathered together searching desperately for their foe, on edge for a new fight. And they didn't have to search long. For high in the sky, hovering not twenty feet above them, was the Yellow-Eyed Demon staring at them with the most delightful grin Sam had ever seen.

He really wanted to puke again.

* * *

Caroline couldn't have picked a more perfect time to show up. Surrounded by hundreds of demons outside of a small dingy bar in the middle of nowhere, they hadn't found themselves in a stickier spot. Dean couldn't say he was surprised. He realized the closer he got to finding Sam, the tighter the security. And it was ridiculous.

Ash's research led him and Dean straight to the outer townships of Pennington County. The population was well over 100,000 in the province, so the two decided to stick to the western side, deep in the Black Hills, where the infrared on the computer indicated. Arriving the following afternoon, they set straight to work. Introducing themselves as Agent Arrow and Agent Smith from Sector Seven of the government, they asked the locals and the county magistrates if they had seen or heard anything strange, noticed any of the omens they found on the computer.

Except that the locals said the only thing they found strange was two guys, one with a mullet and holey jeans, and the other looking roughed up like he had took a tour in the UFC for a day, was asking questions about cattle deaths.

Not one person mentioned a single omen. Which was strange enough as it was. Suspicions ran amuck in his head.

And then he learned why later that night. The entire region crawled with demonzoids. The entire county was possessed.

Inside a bar named _Alimony_, Ash had spiked his beer full of holy water. A local farmer they interrogated, while insulting them about their shabby coats and jeans, took up the bottle and downed it. A New York minute later the farmer was howling on the ground, smoke pouring off his body in streams. Ash sprinkled salt on the bastard as Dean brought out his father's journal with the exorcism. He had looked up and to his horror saw the entire bar was to their feet, each with devilish black eyes. They both were surrounded.

He hated to admit that this was round two and they were only slightly prepared.

Bobby's flask full of holy water resided in the inner pocket of his jacket. He took it out and flung the contents around, creating a small distance between the demon horde and himself and Ash. Ash took off the cap to the salt container in his hand, ready to toss.

The farmer had risen off the floor, smiling. "We knew you'd be coming here. Someone as ugly as you and that smell? Ugh," he mockingly convulsed. "I love the smell of human flesh, but you boy, need a good sautéing with a lot of garlic." He made a satisfied, salivating noise.

Dean rolled his eyes. He had no intention of becoming dinner. "Sorry, I don't do cannibalism. You should try the mayor's poodle. That'll make a nice treat."

The black eyes glimmered, and the robust man smirked. "I'll keep that in mind. It'll make a sweet dessert after the main entrée."

Ash leaned in, "Compadre, we need to make like a genie and _blink_ away."

Dean whispered back, "Ya think?" He became desperate when the horde closed in, each beginning to raise their hands ready to release their magic mumbo jumbo.

Without thinking, he opened his dad's book and began reading off the Latin exorcism as fast as he could. Ash took two or three salt containers and frantically enclosed them both in a circle of salt. The demons all then screamed, many trying to rush out the doors. But because there were so many trying to squeeze through the rectangular opening, it created a jam and they all were stuck. Dean picked up the pace in reading the exorcism. The screaming increased in volume, splintering the windows. Several demons tried bursting through the glass, but, to Dean's and Ash's advantage, the bar was a slightly older model and the windows were encased in iron. The demon horde had nowhere to go. He finished reading off the exorcism. The demonized smoke ejected from their vessels making a long, bright stream traveling into the depths of Hell.

Ash was most impressed at their accomplishment. "Shake and bake," he said.

"Whatever, we've got to scram, Agent Arrow," Dean replied snapping closed the book, and stepping over the unconscious bodies.

Their victory was short lived. They opened the broken door and froze. Hundreds stood outside. Dean had never seen so many demons before in his life. He recognized many of the faces from the previous counties he and Ash embarked through. He could've kicked himself. Of course, these guys are possessed and wouldn't answer any of his questions. Of course, the YED would have all of this area under watch. He had to protect his investment. Kill off any hunter or threat.

Ash leaned in again, "Now what partner?"

The concept that he might not make it out of here alive struck him, struck him hard like being punched by the **Big Show** on _WWE_. Yeah, he wasn't ashamed to admit it. It sucked out loud. But he wasn't going down without a fight. He pulled his _Eagle Magnum_ from his belt and aimed.

The demons merely laughed. "Aww, how cute?" One woman guffawed. "Sugar, that won't kill us."

"No, but it'll hurt like hell." He let off the shot, the bullet finding its mark in her shoulder. She emitted a piercing shriek. For once, he was glad to douse the bullets in holy water.

"You dick!"

"Uh huh, I know."

The audience of demonites rushed forward. He barreled out as many shots as he could produce, but the swarm kept on coming. Any second then they were about to become roadkill. He opted to keep his eyes open. He wasn't going down like a coward. And he was thankful he did.

There was a monstrous flash, an illuminating light that consumed the entire landscape. He partly shielded his eyes from it. When he looked, there was Caroline standing in front of him with her hands raised, about twenty or thirty demons down, motionless. She whirled around, serious, grabbed both their jackets and they _blinked_ away.

A second later, they found themselves in a rocky quarry, in the shallow end of pool up to their knees. "Oh son of a bitch!"

"You whine too much."

"Oh you're one to talk! You at least are dry." It was true. She stood outside the small pool seemingly taunting them. He waded out of the pool mumbling curses.

The angel giggled. "I figured you'd need to cool off for a bit."

"That's quite a sense of humor you've got."

"Isn't it?" She smiled. "Aw, don't sweat it Dean. Isn't it refreshing to be the D.I.D. for once?"

"D.I.D?"

"Yeah, damsel in distress."

He shot her an annoyed glare.

"Sorry, you opened yourself up for that one. Come on, I've got a lead."

~o()o~

"Lead, my ass!" Dean shouted. "We've been zapping left and right all over this freakin' crater for two days! And so far, all we've found is gravel!"

The angel growled. "Sorry, can't help it. The demon's scent is everywhere all over these foothills. I may have picked up—"

"Na uh. No, no, no," Dean swiveled his index finger. "Every time you 'pick' up a scent and drag my ass, my plumbing stops working."

"But—"

"No."

"Dean, what did you expect? That immediately my sources are going to find out where Sam has been taken and I would take you straight there on a field trip?"

"Yeah." He replied in a "no-duh" fashion.

"Well I wish that were the case, but unfortunately this place is angel proof."

"What?"

"Yes, I'm fairly certain. Otherwise we would have found it by now."

"And when were you going to tell me this?"

"I'm telling you now," she smirked gleefully. It made him wonder if she was just messing around with him, wasting his time. "Besides I just figured it out. I believe he may have had a lead that angels have come back down to Earth and may have found protection from us."

"God, I knew I should have gone back with Ash to the Roadhouse. What are you talking about?"

"Okay, I'll try to explain this as I would to a kindergartener. The gig is up. The news is out. We've been found out. We tried to keep our involvement a secret, even while fighting the enemy. But someone must've let slip. So the demon sought out protective sigils to keep us at bay, like what iron and salt do to his kind."

"So all this trekking around? It's been for nothing."

"No, I've made the connection that we're right where we need to be. Sam is here, somewhere in this forest." She waved her hand overseeing the entire expanse of the blackened area. It looked to go on for miles and miles. "I don't know how far I can go before the charms take effect and block me out."

An elated feeling blossomed in Dean's gut. "You're sure we're that close."

"I'm most positive. This spot in all of this state has been most under guard."

"Shit, I need my duffel bag." He had a few weapons on him like his Eagle Magnum, his flask of holy water, and a container of salt. But now, he wanted the entire arsenal from the back of his baby. "Hey you zapped Ash back fine. Just zap me to my car so I can grab my stuff. The more I have on me, the better I feel."

"Uh…okay. Sure."

Within a blink of an eye, they zapped to the Impala left in a park n' ride lot. Dean gave it a kiss on the hood and then went to the trunk. He collected two shotguns, several salt rounds, along with lead ones, and a jug of holy water. There was a pentagram trinket hanging from the car light. He placed it around his neck. _Better safe than sorry_. Closing the trunk, placing the keys in his back pocket, he turned to the angel with the most determined look he could muster.

She, however, didn't share the same.

"Dean, listen to me. I was given special permission to help you find Sam. We know the demon needs him for something. And I'm severely disappointed that I can't go all the way. But we need to get him out of there before it happens."

"Before what happens?"

She pursed her lips, unsure of what to say. "Before they turn on him."

"What do you mean?"

She went to answer but stopped, her brow creasing in seriousness. Instantly she raised her hands in front of her, spinning around, as though she sensed danger.

"Who's out there Caroline?"

"Just me," a voice said from behind a tree. Out of the shadows walked a woman in a leather jacket, tight jeans, and leather boots. She had short, black curly hair and plump ruby lips to go with the flaming red eyes. It was the Crossroads Demon he met several months ago. Her dismissal of making a deal for his soul led to him putting a bullet in his mouth.

"You!"

"Ah, he remembers."

"How can I not remember the same cold-eyed bitch who told me to stick it where the sun doesn't shine?" He growled.

"And if I had said yes, ask yourself this: where would you be?" She retorted.

That shut him up. He lowered his hands to his sides and he just glared. Caroline stepped in front of him defensively.

"Easy doll," she said in her sly, seductive voice, "I'm not here to blow up the chicken coop. I'm here to help."

Caroline remained tensed. "Why do I smell bull?"

"That's because it's me. I just stepped in it," Marco suddenly appeared at their side looking at the bottom of his right shoe. "Ugh, that's gonna take a lot 'turgent."

"Marco?"

"Hey!"

"What the hell is going on here Marco?"

The demon appeared confused. "What does it look like? You've met my friend Stella here? You lucked out. Her pay rate is much cheaper than some other bimbos I know on the block."

The Crossroads Demon smacked him upside the head. "Stop fucking around."

"Oh come on, it was a joke. But your rate is much cheaper."

"Like I said," Stella spoke. "I'm here to help."

"You'd go against your boss?" Dean was still uncertain. Caroline was too. She never dropped her defensive pose.

The demons eyes melted away revealing the vessel's chocolate ones. The whites of her eyes brightened. "Of course, I've gone against my boss. Not all of us are bad you know. I'm just retail. That's all I care about. And with the boss's plan of action of releasing hell on earth, I'll be out of business. He's on this freakin' rampage and a lot of us is going to get caught in the cross fires, no matter who it is. And I'm sick of being his lapdog."

"Nice spiel," remarked Marco, softly clapping.

Dean and Caroline exchanged glances. That last note still didn't scream trustworthy.

Marco noticed the unenthused expressions and said, "I know what you two are thinking, and yes, we both can't be trusted. But she is legit. She busted me out of a few scraps here and there. Plus, she can take you to Sam."

"What?"

"That's right," she smiled. "I can take you where he's holding them. But I won't go by revealing the boss's deathmatch ring for charity. There is a price involved."

Dean wasn't entirely surprised this would come up. He knew the minute he saw the bitch, there would be a potential deal in the making. And unless Marco found out how to absolve the binding spell's power, he was convinced the demon knew where to find Sam. Time was precious and they needed a leverage point. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

"Alright, name it."

The demon's smile widened.

* * *

This sure was a terrible time to be feeling lousy.

That evil smile just flourished, the evil look in his eyes twinkling at the frightened faces. Everyone had seen him in their dreams. And now they were seeing him for real. Sam tried to be appear strong. He had to show the others not to be afraid –even though they really _should_ be.

YED laughed. "Bravo my pets," he clapped, "bravo. You surpassed all my expectations. You're doing far better than I had hoped for."

"Don't listen to him," said Sam. "He's going to lie to you, and then kill you."

"Now, now Sam. Such the pessimistic one. I'm merely here to congratulate you." The man spoke. "So don't spoil the fun." He lifted two fingers and sliced them sideways through the air, and suddenly Sam was thrown off the landing, falling down the two stories. Andy screeched his name. He prepared for the bone-shattering landing…but it didn't happen.

Somehow he landed softly into the dirt rather than crashing. He rolled over and swore YEDs grin was even more evil looking. "See now, that wasn't so hard. I know you Sammy have been trying to hold back from using your gifts. Although I suspect there's no control over those visions." Suddenly the tips of his boots were touching the bridge of Sam's nose. He looked up and those horrid yellow eyes glimmered back. The YED snapped his fingers and Sam heard the surprised gasps from behind. It transported the others to the ground. They all huddled together, clinging to one another fiercely, terrified. Andy rushed forward and dragged Sam back. He scrambled to his feet, brandishing the demon-slaying knife.

"Oh come now, don't be like this. We're all in this together!" The demon spread his hands out, snickering. "And my hat's off to you Alex, and to you too Celia. For a moment there, I was wondering if you would ever follow my advice to break the seals to the house. If you hadn't, you might still be stuck in there, starving."

Sam threw both Alex and Celia the worst sneer he could.

Shadows thickened in the trees from behind, growing larger, soon separating from their background. Out emerged about twenty new faces, dirtied and bloody, stone-cold. They were kids about the same age. Some were black, others of Asian heritage, and Hispanic: a very diverse group of people. All with the same look as the YED. In front of the pack stood the boy and girl from Sam's vision. The boy was Caucasian, standing a foot higher than the girl with a buzz cut, a lean face, and in a tattered green jacket and jeans. The girl smiled wickedly with her palm laid out and a fireball hovering above it. They could've passed for twins.

"Ah, the goon squad," remarked Andy. "See those two in the front there," he said to Sam, "those are the two who killed Dan."

Hearing this, Sam immediately understood why the salt Andy claimed he used on them before didn't work. "Andy, those people aren't demons."

"Then what are they?"

He sighed. "They're psychics. They're just like us."

The gamer's surprised expression told him all he needed. He wasn't expecting that answer. Sure, they faced off against an entire army of demons and supernatural creatures, but this brought on a whole new level of uncertainty, a whole new level of danger. Primarily because psychics weren't creatures. They were human. That feeling of nausea came back with a vengeance.

"We have no intention of harming you. We only wish to welcome you," the YED said.

"Yeah, I'll bet," scoffed Sam. "Tell us one thing you push-over son of a bitch: why did you choose us? What do you want from us?"

"I figured it would be quite obvious. I gave you all a purpose—"

"We got that. Push us into a corner, unleash our hidden talent. I gotta say this talent show of yours, it's lacking material. Definitely will harm the ratings."

"Hmmm, so feisty tonight Sam. Though you're quite right. The goal simply was for you to invoke the concealed strengths from within, and now look at you. Each one of you aspiring athletes is ready to take charge."

"Don't listen to him. He's just saying this so you'll turn dark side."

"You can try to fight it all you like. But be honest with yourselves. What kind of life did you have before this? Alex, your father left you when you were what? Eleven? Just upped and left. Was pretty hard on you and your mother, huh? Guess he didn't like you. And you too, Celia. This is your chance to take revenge on that man. You know the one. The one who abused you, sexually, stripping you of your innocence. The same one who came into the night, strangled your baby sister, took a knife to your parents throats, and later came for you. And no one believed you."

Celia shuddered, giving into her emotion.

"This is your chance my dear for ridding this world of vermin like him. Dylan, I know you want that blue in the senior science fair and a one-way ticket to Dartmouth. What if I tell you, whatever dreams, whatever desires you have, it'll all come true. All of it. Anything you want, you can have. Life just got that much easier."

Sam shook his head. "It's a trick. Decide for yourselves what you want, but just say no. Don't give into him." He was afraid now, because many of the faces were undecided.

YED shrugged. "Why not give in? I won't command you forever, just for a little while. Consider it a short-term service, and then you can do whatever you want. Live a demon-free life, full of luxury, power." He flicked his finger.

Instantly Sam felt a shudder within his body, but it quickly went away. He looked at the others, but they were shaking, including Andy.

"Andy, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I don't know man, but it's like that ball of worms you were talking about. It just got bigger all of a sudden…and it….and it actually feels kinda good. It's like a craving, but I don't want my double-creamed mint Oreos, I want to do my mind thing."

Sam now was scared. "Fight it Andy. He knows he can't do anything to you unless you give your consent to follow him. This is his way of enticing you. Everybody, don't do it. Don't give in."

They didn't answer but had looks of contemplation. It was like they were trying to decide, which wasn't a good thing in Sam's book. "Remember you have a choice. Fight it!" He liked that there was a choice, but it still made him curious. He didn't have the craving, nor was there a dark, salivating presence inside wanting to burst from its restraints. He was immune to YEDs charm.

The demon lifted a thin eyebrow. "How about you Sam?"

"Go drown in a bucket of lacquer thinner!"

"Interesting. You're not even a teeniest bit tempted."

"Not in the least."

"How odd? I half-expected you to be the first to accept your newfound abilities. What with your father, the scoundrel he was, dragging you all over the place against your will, treating you like a soldier, when you are meant to lead Sammy. Being a soldier, a dog is your brother's place. And he mistreated you in that respect."

"You need to try harder than that. That won't work on me. I've already come to terms with it. My dad did the best he could. So suck it." He could see that Yellow-Eye's was actually confused, but the confusion was quickly replaced with a wicked grin.

"It's alright for now. You won't be immune for long."

"I'm still curious though. My family doesn't have a history of bullying or abuse victims. So why'd you do it? What was so special about me that you made a trip to see my crib?"

The demon didn't hesitate. "Well, if you must know, it was that sleezy bitch of your mother."

He blinked, taken back by this answer. "Huh?"

"That's right. Apparently your family _does_ have a history, one I'm surprised John didn't tell you. It's almost too comically hysterical to even think about. But I came across your mother one day, a feisty little fox I might add, and she pissed me off. That about wraps it up. Couldn't pass up the opportunity."

"There's more isn't there? If that's the case, you wouldn't have killed Jessica. But I don't care," he stood his ground, clenching his fists. "You are not going to win. We are going to fight you for as long as we can. We will not stop until you are dead. You hear me you son of a bitch. No matter what you are going d—"

A blast sounded from behind and suddenly he was lurched twenty feet into the air. He landed awkwardly on the cold, hardened ground, coughing into the dust. Blinking away the blinding spots of pain, he pulled himself off the ground. Looking back at the group, his mouth dropped slightly in surprise. It was Celia with her hands out. She sent out the deflection wave causing him to sail. Andy, also perplexed at this, jogged quickly over to his side.

"Holy Sephiroth man. She turned."

Celia was no longer part of the scared pack. In fact, every bit of fright that was etched into the group's faces had vanished. They stood tall, emotionless, like the group standing behind Yellow-Eyes. They had given in.

"Hey dude, I'd hate to be calling it quits here. But sometimes being a coward and running away, you do survive. I'm ready to book when you are."

Sam mostly agreed with Andy's logic, but his heart pleaded with him to try one more time. "Guys please. You don't know what you are doing. Giving into him is not the answer."

"You're wrong Sam." Lana half-shouted. "Giving in is surviving. And I just want to live."

"Don't do it Lana."

"It's not too late for you Andy." It was Alex this time. "If you join us, we won't have to kill you. Keeping you alive is a threat to us, and we will seek out and destroy you."

"And I believe you dude. It is tempting, I'm not gonna lie," answered Andy. "But I don't like authority. It just isn't my style."

"Is that your final answer?"

"God, I hate myself for this. Yes! Yes, that's my final answer."

Sam beamed. _Thank God for a friend. _

"Okay then," Lana shrugged. She rubbed her hands together and placed them on the sodden ground. Issuing out a loud grunt, currents of electricity traveled through the soil. There was no time to react. Both Andy and Sam felt the shock as it hit their soles, then their knees, traveling all the way up to their chests and heads. It launched them back a few feet.

It was time to get out of there.

"Come on Andy. Come on, come on. Get up! Get up!" He dragged the poor boy to his feet. Dylan then clapped his hands together and a ginormous shockwave rippled before them. The YED stood watching gleefully as the legs to the watertower cracked like toothpicks and toppled over.

Sam and Andy couldn't run fast enough. The tower came down fast. Sam's instincts kicked in and he raised his hands. A warm gush of power escaped. The tower stopped a few feet above their head. Exhaling a relieved breath, he tossed it aside and continued to run. There wasn't any time to self-flagellate himself for doing that, giving in just a bit. There wasn't any time to check to see if Andy was still beside him.

All he knew at that particular time was to run, run, run. Because now he became the hunted.

* * *

**Dun, Dun, Dun...now its where the story picks up. Hopefully I haven't lost ya yet. I'll see ya next week with another update. Cheers!**


	10. Eight: Sanctuary is Lost

**Chapter Eight: "Sanctuary is Lost"**

**Song by: "Two Steps From Hell"**

Weaving through the trees; stumbling over sunken pits; catching upon spindly limbs that seemed to not want to let them go; on and on they fled. It was morning now. Sam didn't know how much longer he could run. It seemed like they were on the move for hours. A hill loomed ahead of them and he and Andy nearly fainted at the sight of it. Howls and jarring woots echoed from all around. The enemy was closing in. Sam knew not how far. Only that the sounds became louder with each passing minute. His strength was waning far too quickly to his liking and if it weren't for Andy aiding him, pushing him up the drastic incline, he never would have made it to the half-way mark.

The noises were everywhere, like both the demon army and the psychics were in front of them, to the side of them, all around them. He didn't understand. How can they be so close and he not see them?

A headache brewed and he was dizzy. These were the just a few of the many signs of rejection he thought. Why did his heart have to give out now? He has to survive this!

Finally they made it over the arduous hill. Sam panted for air, grasping at his chest. It throbbed unmercifully behind its cage. The air was thin, which made it worse.

"Dude," Andy panted alongside him. "It's getting harder by the minute man."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's like…it's like a, sort of, thrall inside me," Andy struggled to find words. "Something in the center of my chest man just wants me to unleash everything I've got. It wants me to go back to him. Do you feel it?"

"No," he shook his head.

"Oh. Lucky bastard."

"I'm sorry. I just…I don't feel anything." Even he had to admit it was weird. "But we need to get out of plain sight right now."

"Agreed."

Together they sought out a nice hiding place, and it came to them in the form of a huge tree. An opening, like a small den, lay to the front. Immediately they scrambled inside sitting with their knees up to their chests. "We'll hide in here for a bit, at least until we rest."

"Okay sure. But Sam, where are we going to go? What are we going to do?"

"I don't know Andy. I don't know." He tried to keep the despair out of his voice, but failed.

"This place goes on for miles and miles."

"I know." God, he really wished Dean were here, or someone with a weapon other than a demon-murdering knife.

"Do you hear that?" Andy asked.

"What?" He didn't hear anything. And then it started. Whispers. A whole entourage of rapid whispers chorused in their heads. It was the psychics. The volume increased and they both grappled their ears, slinking further down into the mossy stump.

* * *

His pack was heavy against his shoulder, but it held no sway compared to the weight in his heart. The deal was made. His kiss onto the plump lips locked it in. The crossroad's demon emphasized how she valued her pitiful life possessing a hot stripper, and so she named the price: his life was tethered to hers. If she died, he would too, and he guessed it: his soul would follow hers into the depths of Hell as well.

Sometimes he had to question his own sanity.

But as he had said before, he'd do anything to get his brother back, safe and out of the clutches of the demon. _'Sides, Dad's done far worse bat-shit crazy things. _He thought about his father and how he wished that the man was here with him during this insane journey. More manpower he guessed.

Stella, the crossroads demon, clung to his arm like a star-crossed lover as they trekked through the eerie woods. "It's been so long since I've had a romantic walk like this."

Dean stared at her incredulously. How the hell was this romantic? Only to a demon he supposed. "Maybe if you weren't such a bitch, you'd get hit on a lot more."

She scoffed. "The charm never stops around here." She let go.

Their hike was slow, caused by no other than Caroline, who halted and paused every two seconds it seemed, listening intently for unidentified foes. Dean hardly blamed her. In these woods, there was probably a demon every few feet, camouflaged with the trees. The farther they roamed, the faster the dreadful feeling in his stomach clawed. He wanted to so desperately kick his legs into hyperactive, but doing so would trigger the alarms. He kept his shotgun up and ready to fire. The hairs on the back of his neck were like stone.

Stella, Dean was expecting, to be firm, crossing steadily into this territory. He was just waiting for them all to walk into a trap. But instead, she hunched down, passing quickly and hiding behind several trees, muttering an incantation as she went.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Tracking spells. So we know which way to come back. It's not like we have angel mojo to fly out of there. If we do, the best thing would be to run, stay off his radar."

"And how certain are you on a scale of one to ten that he doesn't already know we are here?"

"Hmm, four."

Dean huffed. _Unbelievable_!

"You asked, darling."

"Don't call me darling."

"Alright, snookums."

His fingers clenched the gun and it took most of his resolve not to commit suicide again to kill the bitch. Why oh why did he typically fall into predicaments like this?

As he continued his reconnaissance, Marco and Caroline argued in whispers back and forth, like the proverbial angel and devil on his shoulder, behind his back. He thought they argued on how best to rescue Sam and make it out of here undetected. Listening in, he had to fight hard not to sock em' both in the mouth. In a strange way, they fought like they were a brother and sister.

Marco walked triumphantly carrying a large handled cup. Caroline tried swiping it out of his hand. "Get rid of it!"

The demon glided it out of the way quickly. "Easy now, this cup is the bearer of happiness to my drunkenness."

"I am utterly astounded that you'd be drinking at a time like this!"

"Why not? I'd like a strong buzz before I'm hacked into pieces. 'Sides, they're not gonna care. They're gonna point at me and say 'ooh, look it's that drunken bitch who stole my sugar cookies from Harris Teeter.'"

"Right? And how many times have you gone to the supermarket drunk?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"No."

"Alright fine, only once."

"Bull!"

"Not kidding dearest." He took a huge gulp from the cup, and then coughed. "Ugh, that hurt."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "I bet you nitwit. You're drinking it from a soup cup."

Shrugging, he replied, "It's still good." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of Woodchuck, and began pouring it into the cup.

"Did you really have a bottle of wine with you the whole time?"

"Not the whole time." He cowered from her annoyed glare. "Just most of the time."

"Shut up you two," Dean called back.

"Then tell him to get serious." Caroline snapped back.

"Oh I am serious," Marco retorted. "Just ask all my Asian mamas."

"What is it with you and your affinity for Asians?"

He sighed happily, "They just make me happy in all the right ways. It is what it is."

"Whatever." She tensed. "What was that?"

"Jeez, lighten up there toots. It was just a squirrel."

Dean wondered how he had been able to endure two hours of this. The woods became denser, thicker, and the sun began to set, beckoning darkness.

A little more ways in, Stella paused. She turned to him, "Just FYI, I take one more step and I'm on his radar. I'm doing this for you."

"No one's twisting your arm sweetheart. Just get us there."

"Just remember our deal. I won't make any guarantees."

"There never are."

He stared her down, waiting for the inevitable 'escape' to happen. She shrugged off the stare and continued.

"Hey Dean, wait." Caroline called.

"We're running out of time," said Stella rudely.

"Then make time." As the angel approached Dean, she took off her locket. It was in the shape of a silver heart with a pearl bead molded into its center. "Take this. A friend of mine invented it."

"What for?"

"I don't know how much further I can venture. There's no telling where those sigils are the demon placed. If I am unable to be with you, this will help you transport from place to place."

Flabbergasted, he stared widely at the metal hanging from his fingertips. "Like an angel metro card?"

"Eh, sort of. All you have to do is think of a place. Say the name and press the bead and it will take you there. It may come in handy if you're in a tight spot. It doesn't matter where you are and under whatever enchantments. One-hundred percent reliable."

Alleviated at this news, he thanked her pulling the necklace over his head. An idea formed in his head and he thought of Sam. He said Sam's name out loud and pressed the bead. Nothing happened.

_It doesn't work that way silly_, he heard Caroline's voice in his head. He turned to her.

"It only works in places, not people. Otherwise we would have found Sam and the demon a lot sooner."

"Damn," he muttered.

Stella cleared her throat. She stood with her arms crossed, her red eyes glowing in the semi-darkness. "If we're done with the gift exchange now, we might like to get a move on. Azazel's forces are on the move."

* * *

Many of the psychics gathered around their headstrong leader. In the middle of Cold Oak, next to the landmark bell, sat the YED on the well. He stared absently into the dirt, his fingers fiddling with a long string of straw. The firestarter and the boy stood side by side, awaiting his command.

Approaching from the woods, a squirrelly man in long johns came and knelt down on one knee. "We are unable to locate them sir."

"Unable?"

"Yes. We…" he caught himself, "it seems the two boys; their scent is covered. We've searched high and low."

"So they disappeared, have they? Well, that's disappointing."

"We will find them."

"You won't." The demon stood. "It's too bad Sammy struggles to fight. Although ironically no matter how hard it is to refuse, I'll bet he's not even aware he's been using his gifts from the moment I took him from his house."

"My lord? We don't understand."

"He's invisible to you moron. He can hide his scent from you and whoever else is with him. He could be standing in front of you and you wouldn't even realize it."

Long Johns went silent.

"Captain, you're relieved of duty. Call off your forces. Sloan? Terrance?" The boy and girl nodded. "It's your turn. Send the hounds and find them. Show no mercy."

* * *

"SAM! SAM! HELP ME! OH GOD, HURRY!"

Andy's screams pierced through the hazy fog. Sam ran towards his calls for help, having only lost him just a second ago.

"SAM!"

"I'm coming!" He ran with all his might, searching. He was feeling more lost by the second. Here in the woods, it was barren, desolate, a wasteland. No life to it at all. No life out there to help. The whispers were back, consuming his ears, his mind. Andy's cries of peril swam in and out. He kept calling back, and then he heard a most horrible sound.

Dogs barking.

He ran into a clearing and there was Andy trapped, a rope around his neck and his arms, pinning him to the ground. More barking sounded in the clearing and to his horror he saw parts of Andy's leg pants and shirt shred open, blood gushing. His friend's screams intensified as the invisible foe was pulling the flesh apart. It didn't take a genius. Sounds of vicious growling. The occasional glance of red eyes. He knew exactly what kind of dogs these were.

**Hell Hounds. **

Pulling the knife from his back pocket, he slashed at the open air, hoping to make direct contact. The tip of the blade hit something hard. There was a yelp. And black liquid squirted over Sam's hand. The invisible dog fell simpering, landing with a loud thud. He heard more growling heading his way and he sliced the knife like a mad man. The fiend he surmised back offed. But he couldn't see it.

As he knelt down to cut Andy's ropes, it lunged for him knocking him into the nearest tree. Its razor claws sliced through the skin on his arm and chest. Blood exuded freely from the gashes. He scrambled to his feet and waited, holding his breath. The irregular, harsh pants of air floated next to him. He looked to the side and saw the flash of red eyes. Thrusting the knife upwards, it made contact into what felt like a jaw. The animal whined and howled, its body squirming in Sam's hold. Finally after a minute, the squirms stopped and it too died.

Andy softly sobbed as he cut away his ropes. They fell away leaving raw flesh. His legs were shredded, probably useless. "It's okay. You're okay now. They're dead."

Still the guy said nothing but stare hopelessly up into the sky. "Andy, you with me man?"

The suffering boy paused, considering, and then nodded. Sam helped him up. Without the use of his newly injured leg, he leaned heavily against him. More howls bellowed behind them and they quickened their pace. They trudged further into the woodworks, Andy stopping every so often to rest his leg.

It wasn't long after when he said, "Dude, it's over. It's over." He broke apart and sat down on a fallen tree log.

"What? No. We can make it."

Andy gave him an incredulous look, winded. "Sam, listen to me. My leg is spent. I can't keep going like this for much longer, and I'm just slowing you down."

"Shut up Andy. What you're about to suggest is out of the question."

"Is it though?" his blood-strained eyes peered into his, pleading more like. "Come on man. I'm not stupid. If those fucking things, whatever the hell they were, could come out of nowhere just like they did, there could be hundreds more of em'."

Though he hated to admit it, Andy was right. Sam remained quiet, peeking to the side not wanting to stare at his friend.

Andy continued. "I'm telling you go on without me. I can hold em' for a while to give you more time to find a way out of here."

"And how is that? You" –and then it hit him. His jaw dropped in anger. –"Don't you even think about it. I'm not leaving you here for them to gnaw on your hide so I can get away. We're in this together whether you like it or not. And if we both go down, then fine."

"Nice speech. But you're forgetting the bigger picture here. The yellow-eyed freak wants us, as in you and me, for something, right? If he loses one, he loses all, right?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know Andy. I don't think so."

"I think so." He panted. "Please, just leave me here. I'll fend em' off for ya."

"No."

"Do it. You know you don't have a choice right now."

"Yes, I do. And I choose not to leave my friends behind."

It might have been hope, but he saw in his friend's eyes, for a fleeting second, a glimmer of relief. Andy didn't want to stay behind, but to sacrifice himself to save someone he barely knew, it was nothing short of heroic.

"Come on dude." He extended a hand. "There are plenty of Zelda games I need your expertise on. I don't know how to play. Can you help with that?"

"Then why'd you buy 'em?"

"They were a dollar at Goodwill."

His head popped up like a gopher's and he said excitedly, "A dollar? What Goodwill is this? Sign me up!"

"Good answer."

Laughing, Andy replied, "You pansy." He accepted the hand and stood up on shaky legs. His eyes suddenly darted to the side and widened. He gasped.

There wasn't any time to react. Andy mightily pushed Sam to the ground in time for a flying dagger to cross through the air and embed itself into his chest. Instantly he fell to his knees, pale, gasping, blood pooling around the dagger, soaking his shirt.

Sam cried. "NO! ANDY NO!"

A blood bubble sprouted from Andy's lips as he hiccupped. He began to list when some invisible force latched onto his legs, maybe a hell hound, maybe some psychic power, and dragged him abruptly away.

"ANDY!" Sam grabbed onto his swinging arms, being carried away with him. "I won't let go! ANDY! FIGHT IT!" A massive pain seared through his heart, and it wasn't rejection. It was fear that this might actually be the last time he see his friend. "NO!"

Andy's face was crinkled in pain. They were being dragged fast throughout the trees, his body ricocheting off the harsh bark. His fingers began to slip.

"ANDY!"

The light began to leave the brown eyes. "NO! STAY WITH ME!"

His hands slipped and before he could scream, Andy was gone. "NO!" He emitted the loudest scream.

Scrambling to his feet, he took off in the direction Andy went and then stopped when an unnatural sense overwhelmed him. It screamed "danger". Whirling around, he was suddenly face to face with the boy and girl who roamed his nightmares.


	11. Nine: Cadence of his last Breath

**Chapter Nine: "Cadence of his last breath."**

**Song: Listen to "**_**Eventide**_**" from Brand X Music. **

Sam half expected for fear to grip his conscience, ready to flee at any given opportunity. Instead he found rage to flourish his insides, cloud his judgment, and face Andy's murderers. The darkened landscape, the gnarly trees, and lifeless background blurred, and all he saw were the two. Confusion pounded in his skull simultaneously. Based on the vision he had of the demon whispering into the cup, he had his _six_, the number of psychics he needed. He was so certain he and Andy wouldn't be killed, because they were needed in the grand scheme of things. So it didn't matter if he died or not. Apparently there was more to the demon's plans than he caught on. That thought terrified him all the more.

But there was no time for that now. His grip on the knife tightened, and a fire sprouted in his eyes.

The boy and girl were less than thirty yard away. The wicked, overconfident grins on their faces seemed permanently etched. A presence, nothing short of insanity, and an insatiable appetite for power shined in both of their brown eyes. "My condolences to your friend," said the girl "A nice treat for the hounds. They haven't eaten in days."

_Yeah, keep talking bitch. Just get me angry. _Sam thought.

"Ah, at a loss for words today?" She rolled her eyes, "I was expecting more of a pleading "don't give into him" speech. I'm rather disappointed actually. Not even a 'please, don't kill me'". Her lip mockingly quivered.

Sam remained silent, refusing to give them the satisfaction.

The boy and girl took a couple steps forward, softly laughing, still with that creepy smirk. The boy rotated his fists. And Sam could see he wanted to use them badly. His powers were still a mystery to him, so watching the fists curl and crack slightly disconcerted him. He was sick. He was weak, but he stood his ground and decided to stall them. "What is Nostradamus?"

The two froze, both now intrigued. Then finally the boy piped as though he had an epiphany. "Ah! So it is you who are the one with the gift of foresight?" He sighed, disappointedly. "Too bad. I really wanted to have some fun. If it is truly you, then we are here to offer you a deal—"

"You didn't answer my question. What is Nostradamus, and I don't mean the prophet."

The girl turned to her partner. "Sounds like this one needs an attitude adjustment. Shall I?" Flames erupted in her hands, spreading up her wrists to her shoulders.

Sam's instincts kicked in and he dived behind an Aspen tree in time for a fireball to careen into the bark. The mass of fire rampaged around him, the heat intense; the flames licking his sides. He patted away the flames that caught onto his sleeve. "So what is it?" he called out. "A date? A place? A covert op?"

"Shut up!" Another fireball smashed against the tree. He curled into a ball to shield against the devastating heat.

"Are you guys allergic to giving answers or what? Or is it that boss man just doesn't fill you in?"

The boy growled. "You are a traitor to our cause…" –Yeah, Sam had to question that one too. How can he be a traitor when he said 'no' in the first round? He shook his head. Common sense is dead. – "We will not satiate your need for information."

"But you want me to join you? See, now I'm just confused."

"We said shut up! We don't need you," the girl screeched, and suddenly one of her balls flew past, ricocheted off a tree and bounded straight for him. He dove out of the way, which was a big mistake as he fell into sight.

The boy extended out a hand and Sam felt like a brick wall smashed into him, sending him careening into a tree. But it wasn't over. The boy continued to use telekinesis to smash him into neighboring trees, flip him over several times in the air, and smash him into the freezing soil. The boy snickered. Sam rolled on his stomach, his head numb, but everywhere else white-hot pain erupted, even in places he never knew could hurt so badly. His breath caught in his throat and he struggled to breathe in the damp air. He carefully prodded his side and hissed. There was definitely a cracked rib in there somewhere, maybe several. He nearly lost consciousness.

Crunching of dead leaves alerted him the two were approaching. He felt drastically helpless. The knife was gone, having fallen sometime during the ragdoll toss-up: his only weapon. He sought for strength, falling victim to desperation, when suddenly a surge of warmth enveloped the pit of his stomach. It spread outwards from his torso to the tips of his fingers and toes, quelling the hideous throb in his head. It was a magnificent feeling.

The girl gasped, the fire from her hands extinguishing. She jerked her hand, summoning her powers. Nothing produced. "Terrance," she squeaked. "Something's wrong."

"What is it?"

"My fire. It's gone."

"Are you all out of juice?"

"I shouldn't be. This is weird. Quick, see if your power is working."

The boy grunted, waving his hands at Sam. Nothing happened. Sam remained where he was. This puzzled him. He went the nearest tree, rotated his right fist and threw a big punch. The hand shot back from the unscathed bark and he hollered in pain. Shaking his hand vigorously, he said painfully, "Sloan, you're right. Something is wrong. My right hook is totally useless."

That wonderful feeling renewed his strength. Sam swiftly began to rise, and in doing so, he spotted the knife lying near him. Picking it up, he stepped out, meeting his enemy head on. The warmth pulsed inside, and he felt invincible.

"Ah, too bad. Your time at the meter is up." He posed defensively, "because right now, without your magic mojo, you're nothing but sacks of gutless white meat."

The boy rushed at him, striking first with a right book to his lower jaw. The hit was miniscule, like a nudge. He stepped back, in shock. Sam swung back a fist and plowed it straight into his left eye, causing him to stumble back. The girl jerked her hands out, trying to bring back her power. It was no use. In two strides, he cut off her escape and knocked her out in two punches. She fell, sprawled, in the turf, not moving.

The strange warmth pulsing in his stomach began to wane, and he knew there wasn't much time left. The boy struggled to regain his composure. With the knife in hand, he pulled the blade over his chest, and down across his wrists. The boy fell to his knees, now visibly shaken. Sam grabbed his head and brought it down swiftly onto his knee. He, too, fell unconscious.

Panting, Sam instantly felt weak and he swayed. Whatever that foreign sense was, it was gone now, and so was his strength. It was alleviating to conquer his enemy so easily. However, the boy and the girl would be just the start. Soon the entire militia of psychics would be after him. And once, these two woke, which wouldn't be for long, they'd be hot on his tail. He should kill them now, to avoid that situation. But even as he looked at the knife in his hand, the drop of blood beading at its tip, the good guy inside him couldn't find that willpower to do what needed to be done. The only chance he had now was to flee.

He still had to find a way out of the forest. It seemed near impossible now as he was starving, dehydrated, his heart beginning to reject him without the supplement of his medication. His pace was slow, no matter how hard he pushed himself. The connection between his brain and feet felt delayed; his legs and feet numb. Gritting his teeth, he moved on, the longing to quit put on hold.

Strange noises floated among the air. He stopped, focusing on his breathing to listen. They were awful, sounding like hungry hyenas. Yips. Screeches. Roars. It was like an entire battalion was encircling him. They weren't natural. His heart beat faster, the urge to run imminent.

But with his deteriorating condition, he couldn't run. There was no end in sight to these woods, no exit. He wanted to say Yellow-Eyes put a spell on it so that they couldn't escape if they wanted to, which would make sense according to what Flash had said. If it were true, then he was really, really screwed. The yips grew louder, forcing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. He had to get out of sight and fast.

Luckily a few yards away he stumbled upon a sunken pit, hidden at the base of a hill. It was dark and damp and it provided the right amount of cover. He never would have found it had his foot not sink through the clearing. Shakily climbing in, wrapping his arms around his torso, he promptly fell asleep, expecting the previous dreams from before…but he was wrong.

_He was in the city of ruins again. The buildings were the same as before, along with the streetlamps and the street sign. The volume turned on where it was deadly silent before revealing petrified screams. It grated upon his ears. But there weren't just screaming, other noises, like the ones he heard chasing him in the woods. Yips. Yowls. Monsters roaming rampant inside this city of ruins. _

_The vision pirouetted to face an intersection. In the middle was a circle of four people he didn't recognize, all beaten badly with bruises, burns, and blood leaking profusely from several deep gashes along their temples. There was a man with a mousy face, a hooked nose, and puffy cheeks, gagged and tied. Across from him was a dark-haired, pale woman in tight-fitting leather. To the woman's right was another woman. Blonde, blue eyed, beautiful. This girl didn't have the anxious, scared look like the others. It was more expecting, like she was waiting for someone. Across from her sat a Caucasian man on his knees in a tattered business suit. The man, terrified, suddenly morphed into a Chinese man – a shapeshifter. _

_Standing above the circle of people was the Yellow-Eyed demon with his hands raised to a lightning streaked sky. He is calling out a Latin phrase where then the sky changes color from a purple to blood-red. He continues his chant when there was an explosion from the ground devouring the four beaten people in a blinding light. _

He woke up, shivering. The air was brisk, frigid against his skin. He burrowed down deeper into the sodden earth, seeking whatever warmth he could find. His body was exhausted, but an icy terror kept him awake. He wasn't terrified of the psychics, nor of the other worrisome beasts that wanted to rip him apart. No, it was much more than that.

He was scared to death of turning. How poetic? A hunter becoming a monster. Still, he had to face reality. And she slapped him good. He wasn't a hunter. He was a monster. By already using his powers, either involuntarily or out of desperation, he was something unnatural, a curse to this world. He wondered how long it would be until he gave in. What would happen? If Dean was still alive, what would he say? What would he do? Odds are: he'd kill him. And Sam would have allowed it.

He could die right here, in the cold, allowing exposure to nature's fury to claim his life. That icy feeling in his head dug deeper, like a thorn. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live. He almost died once. His brother apparently had sacrificed himself and made some sort of deal for him not to die. Ooh, he was so kicking Dean's ass if he ever got out of here. That thought brought on a smile. It had been a long time since he had one up on his brother. Perhaps he can set a goal. _Fight to stay alive just so I can mop the floor with Dean's persqueeter. Yeah, I like that. And do it without using any powers. _

That goal brought an even bigger drive to stay alive. Perhaps if he refused to give in, maybe he won't ever turn evil. Maybe he didn't have to work for the demon and destroy all that he loved and sacrificed for. The demons' plans would be thwarted, especially if he is _the one with sight_. Who knew what that meant? But it did sound important to the demon. Maybe that was the winning ticket. It was all he could hope for.

He was unaware of his thoughts drifting back into oblivion.

He was walking up a driveway towards a blue two-story house. He didn't know whose house this was, although it did have a familiar appeal to him. The driveway was cracked, parts of it missing. The lawn was kept, and the garden at the foot of the entrance trimmed, displaying blue hydrangeas. It was a homely setting. His feet were guiding him and he walked through the front red-door. Inside there was a living setting complete with a laz-y-boy and a TV cabinet. To the right was a staircase with a collection of photos adorning the wall. The smell of chicken floated in, causing him to salivate.

He heard a child's laugh and then he saw it. A blonde haired, green-eyed boy, no older than three, ran down with an adult chasing him.

Sam deadpanned. Dad?

Of course, this was familiar. It was their house.

"John?" A woman's voice drifted from beyond the hallway. "John, can you quiet it down? I'm on the phone." His mother, in a blue and yellow flowered Sunday dress, appeared at the end of the hallway holding a landline phone. He saw she was very pregnant.

"Sure honey," John scooped up the child, who he surmised was his brother, and ran out the door, past him.

He was shocked. No, he was dead. How the hell was this happening? What was this?

"This is one of my memories. Mary was about eight months pregnant there." A voice said from the side. He whirled around and thought for a second his heart stopped.

"Dad?"

It was John. But it wasn't the younger John from the memory, or vision, or whatever. His father had gray hair, a rough 5 o'clock shadow, and heavy bags under his eyes. "Dad? What?"

"Calm down." His father raised a hand. "I know you have many questions, you always have since you were five. But it was hard breaking in here, and I figured I had to give you something welcoming rather than say a memory from a dark alley."

"Dad, I still don't get—"

"Shhh, listen son," John interrupted. "Right now, wherever you are, I know you're scared and you're in danger. Don't roll your eyes," he pointed a finger stopping Sam before he made his trademark huff and eye-roll. Yup, this was his dad.

John softened his gaze. "It may seem like a good idea to you to just give up and surrender to Death himself. But trust me when I say the guy's a dick. He wants you, but you're not on his list tonight. You may think you're sick, but it's not your body that's failing you."

Sam blinked. "Then what is it?"

"Your own doubt. Come on son, you know what I'm talking about. You had it figured out a while back. That's no ordinary heart. It's not rejecting you, you're rejecting it. Accept it, and you'll become so much stronger."

For once in his life, or in his dream world –which he's pretty much chalked this up to be – he had no words. Accepting his heart? Okay, he may have had an idea, but there still needed to be some clarification. "Dad. Tell me what is going on. How are you here?"

"You have to go now Sam. Wake up. Something's coming. Fight it with everything you've got."

"What? I don't understand—"

John was adamant. "Wake up Sam. Now!"

"Dad!"

Before he could fully wake, something heavy latched onto his foot and dragged him out of the hole. He slid at a fast pace, sluggishly clawing outwards when his head bounced off a protruding rock and he was knocked back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Dean paused in his quest at the faint sound of screaming. A terrible weight like lead hung in his stomach. Anguished yells echoed throughout the expansion. He listened intently, and then panicked.

"SAMMY!" Even faintly he could recognize that cry. "SAMMY! I'M HERE!" He began to run at the speed of light…until Stella appeared in front of him and cloth-lined his neck.

"Shut your yap, you idiot!" She gazed at him murderously. "Do you want them to know we're here?"

The lead feeling grew heavier when he could no longer hear the echoes. Stella looked around and then said, "Dammit! We gotta move. And fast!"

They all ran, Marco carefully balancing his cup as he loped. They barely ran a quarter of a mile when suddenly something exploded from the ground. Half a second later Stella was launched into the air entangled in a net. Dean took aim and shot the cord at the top with precision. She dropped emitting a tiny shriek. Untangling herself, she pounced up, scanning the forest erratically. Dean was about to ask if she was all right when it felt like he just slammed into an invisible brick wall. A force pulled at his naval and he somersaulted backwards, swallowing a mouthful of dirt as he skidded into it.

Unnerving, war-like roars sounded around and soon an entire wave of men –demons- along with gangly, half-naked creatures ran into sight. Dean jumped to his feet. There had to be around twelve demons at least. He pumped the first two that ran at him full of salt. One of the creatures screeched loud, swiping a clawed hand at him. He blew its head off. Caroline jumped in front of him as he began to reload. She twisted a demon's arm back, swung her arm, and broke the man's neck killing the demon in a bright flash of light. He looked over and saw Marco dodging the swinging claws of a creature, slurping uninterestedly from his soup cup.

Irritated, Dean yelled, "Marco, kill the fucking thing already!"

Marco rolled his eyes, tossing back the cup. He grabbed the heads of two creatures and smashed them together, the heads disintegrating in a mass of black goop. "Ugh, I've got a smudge on my boot. Ya happy?" He halted in his tracks at the sound of barking. "Uh oh."

Dean heard it too. Amid blasting away the naked men and knocking back the wave of demons shot after shot, there were dog-like snarls and vicious barking. He looked around for the dogs, but found none.

"Dean, out of the way!" Caroline shouted.

He leapt to the side. Caroline suddenly grabbed onto something in thin air, which emitted a doggy-like whine. She raised her hand, the hound yelping, and spun her arm around her head, tossing the hidden dog against a tree. A trail of black blood splattered painting the bark and ground.

There were more barks. Dean turned around and saw Stella flipping backwards, ran up a tree, and somersaulted off it, landing on top of the last naked creature. An angry growl sounded behind her. She whirled around and her eyes widened, but not in a frightened sense. She was relieved.

"Condor?" she knelt down, patting thin air. "Condor, knock it off. It's just me. Now sit." She wagged a finger. "Sittt. Good. Now paw." Her hand took an invisible paw. "Now sic," her finger pointed at the demons fighting against Caroline and Marco.

The dog let off a cheerful bark and took down a man throwing Dean around like a ragdoll. And one by one, the demons went down, torn to pieces. Caroline backed off, her face smeared in blood, surprised.

"Come on," Stella called. "They know we're here. My dog will take care of the rest."

"Your dog?" Dean asked, breathlessly.

"Yup. Raised him as a pup." She replied. "No time. Run."

And once more, they all ran forward into the thicket of the woods. They heard more barking, and shrill whistles, causing them to lengthen their strides. Then suddenly Caroline let out a pained cry, falling backwards. Dean and Marco stopped while Stella continued. The angel stood back up, made a step, her head colliding with a barrier. She became all the more confused as she pressed her hands out, her palms flattening. What was it? A huge-ass hell hound? A transparent fence? What?

"It's the wards," she answered. "I can't go any further. I'll hold 'em off here. We'll meet up later." Dean didn't argue.

"Come on, let's book." He called to Marco who was swiping the dirt and grime off Caroline's jeans.

"You go. I'll hang back here with my lady and take out whatever's left," Marco offered.

More barking alerted their attention to the right. "Shoo!" The demon waved his hand.

Rolling his eyes, Dean fled as Caroline and Marco ran back the way they came. On and on he ran, a stitch growing in Dean's side. He refused to stop. He couldn't stop. His brother was in trouble. His palms were sweaty, the shotgun sliding up and down in his grip.

There were more terrible cries from up ahead. Sounds of fighting echoed, along with more cries of pain. He had to get to them. Somehow he just knew it was his brother. The farther he ran, the louder those cries became. Maniacal laughter added to the cries. A searing pain reached his heart and the panic increased tenfold.

"Hang on Sammy! I'm coming!"

_**SLAM!**_

A hellhound barreled into his side, an explosion of pain erupting on the left side of his ribcage. The shotgun flew from his hand. The terrible mutt's growls amplified and he couldn't hear the cries anymore. All he could hear were his own cries as the fiend's teeth sunk into his back.


	12. Ten: The Demon's Mob

**Chapter Ten: "The Demon's Mob"**

**Song: Okay, for the song portion, I would like you to listen to "**_**Battle of Kerak**_**" by Harry Gregson-Williams from the **_**Kingdom of Heaven**_** Soundtrack. The sound adds an empowered sense of drama to this chapter, I think. **

The Yellow-Eyed Demon was silent. The sinister eyes stared openly, non-blinking, musing over something. His plan, perhaps? The wait for the Winchester kid? Or dinner? No one standing ready at his side could know for sure. There was an air of mystery. The idea of understanding what he contemplated was unfathomable. No one dared ask. They stood, also silent, waiting on said command. More and more as time went on, and the hunger to open fully to the impossible grew larger, the deeper the psychics fell into the pit of evil. It was an inescapable thrall they refused to fight. They were the proverbial dogs waiting for their next treat.

_Just a minute_, the demon said telepathically. _You've been so good. Before we go on a little field trip, I promise you can have some fun._

The group of psychics hadn't a clue what that meant. He had promised them the use of their profound abilities, unsupervised, no restraints; test the limits of their power. Alex had suggested letting them loose on a small town, but YED brushed it off. _I have someone who's in need of our guidance, if you will. He just needs the right push_.

Several groaned, slightly disappointed, while others were marred with confusion. That was until Flash zoomed into the clearing dragging an unconscious Winchester boy by the foot. The puzzlement cleared, heavily replaced with an insatiable desire to maim. Celia felt weird in feeling this way. Alex squeezed her hand, as though reading her thoughts and the feeling vaporized.

Sam coughed, his mind venturing back to consciousness at the slowing pace of his journey. At the slight movement, he hissed, his back alight with fire. It wasn't on fire, thank God, he thought, but there were many new cuts and abrasions due to sliding amongst rocks, twigs, and whatever else on the forest floor. His vision swam, rippled, as his head throbbed unmercifully like it would at a Ted Nugent rock concert. The many faces appeared distorted, floating in and out, unable to take shape. He closed his eyes, ready to drift back into a much needed slumber when he was pulled to his knees by a pair of strong hands.

_Ah, you see my pets_… he heard Yellow-Eyes hideous voice in his head. _I told you I'd bring you a treat. It seems to me that Sam, here, has chosen a different path. Before we take our leave, Terrance, I believe you would like the privilege of educating our comrade the importance of our mission. No one can leave. No one can oppose to what the end-goal here is. Use whatever means necessary. Sam is going to join us. He does not have a choice. _

The voice cleared out of his head and Sam felt he could breathe again. He opened a bleary eye and saw the demon perched on top of the well with his fellow kids surrounding him, watching, like a buttress. Flash released him and settled back with the others, appearing triumphant. The demon cast him a dangerous look: one that read he meant every word he just said. He took relief in that the knife was hidden in the back of his jeans.

_Whatever means necessary_, there was the whisper again.

And suddenly the big guy, Terrance, approached. It looked like he had healed quite well after their last fight. Sam bet this guy was itching to take a nasty bite at him, especially after their last encounter. He figured this was going to hurt… a lot!

The bully held his arm out, using telekinesis – his favorite trick – to pull Sam to his feet. Sam swayed unsteadily, desperately pulling at the fringes of consciousness. He was so dizzy.

A twinkle of sadism glinted in Terrance's dark eyes and he had a smile of mirth. He punched him. Sam flew up ten feet in the air, cracking his head open on the bottom step of the saloon. The dizziness came back with a vengeance, his body dry-heaving as there was no food, nor water residing in his gut. He wiped the blood from his eye.

Sam didn't have long to wait for the next assault. A force pulled at his torso and he was transported to Terrance's feet. The guy lifted him up by the jacket and laid several more bone-crunching punches to his gut, his face, and his back. Half his body went numb from the onslaught. Gagging on the blood in his throat, he stumbled, falling to his knees. Terrance then kicked him hard in the gut and he spun up in the air landing several yards away. Every inch of his body was hurting. His arms quivered rapidly as he attempted to rise. He spat out a mouthful of blood.

A heavy crack blasted in his left ear. His eyes traveled upward and saw to his horror the saloon listing over, aiming to crush him. His instincts pled with him to release that power he used not too long ago when the water tower plummeted to the ground, pushing it off him and Andy. But he refused. By giving in to the power, he gave in to the demon. No matter at what cost, he will not give in tonight. He scrambled through the dirt, moving as fast as he could. The building collapsed, scattering rotten 2x4s and debris to the wind, and sending up large plumes of smothering dust.

Sam moved his foot in time for the side wall to topple over. Rolling in the dirt away from the rubble, he struggled to gain his bearings. He had to fight. But how? His legs had the complacency of marshmallows; his hands weighed a ton; and let's add a nasty migraine to the list that paralyzed his voluntary movements and 'thinking process' to come up with a better strategy than this.

Terrance sauntered over. Before Sam could get to his feet, the psychic put him into a choke hold. "I want you to see them," he whispered tauntingly, twisting him so that he was facing the psychics, "Watch them. You see, don't you? You can't help them anymore. I know your thoughts Sam. I've been reading you since your lumberjack ass was dragged back. Aside from thinking about nothing other than the pain, you were hoping that perhaps this little beating might entice them to see reason, make them see that what they are a part of is wrong. It's evil, wah! It's not going to work. They like where they're at."

Sam gazed at them sadly, slowly accepting that Terrance was right. Not a single one of them, not Lana, Dylan, Celia, or the jackass Alex had a look of concern. He crunched his eyes in pain, gritting his bloody teeth, fighting against the suffocating hold.

"The boss says to keep you," his voice became real low, barely audible, "but…you know, sometimes there are accidents. Hope you're ready, cuz it's your turn to end up like your little friend."

The hold tightened, completely cutting off his air.

* * *

The hellhound's weight was heart-stopping. The farther he reached for his gun, the more weight the animal put on his back. An involuntary whine escaped from his mouth and he bit down hard on his lip: the hound's teeth were like razors cutting into his shoulderblade. The trees around became hazy, blurring together, and his hands and legs were beginning to go numb, supplemented by a pulsing iciness. He knew it. He was at Death's door again.

But was this really it? His final moment… again? Oh hell no! He was not dying at the paws of a hell-mutt listening to the terrible cries of his brother. Sinking his teeth further into his lip, he tried for the gun again, wiggling to get the concealed hound off his back –the hound instantly placed its jaws around the back of his neck. Dean froze stock-still, petrified, the dread amplifying as the seeping blood trickled down the frigid skin. The iciness enshrouded his entire being: this was his final moment…ah, shit!

He closed his eyes waiting for the teeth to clamp down completely, to finish the job. Its' growls were persistent, starting faint and growing to a deafeningly pitch…but wait, these growls and occasional bark weren't coming from on top of him…they were coming from the side!

Seconds later, the weight off his back vanished and his neck was, to his deep surprise and utter relief, still intact, albeit bleeding. Snarls, along with bone-crunching bites, yelps, and the sounds of dogs fighting viciously occurred to the left of him, the floor's debris stirring up haphazardly. It had to be Stella's hellhound. _Wow! I could kiss that bitch again!_

Not bothering to stick around long enough to see the victor, Dean leapt to his feet, hobbling awkwardly, soon breaking into a long sprint. He no longer heard his brother, but he did hear large booms and the continual annoying laughter. A strong breeze flew, swarming his achy, sweaty body. It felt rather good. But then again, if there was a draft, that meant there was an opening. He was close. He ripped off the chain on his neck, holding the angel's charm firmly in hand. He only had one shot at this. "SAM!"

* * *

Through the fog that coalesqued behind his eyes and the fog roaming inside his head due to the lack of air, Sam swore he heard Dean's voice echoing through the woods. He opened his eyes to slits, expecting to see Dean or possibly the other psychics looking around for the source of the voice. They weren't. They only stared like they were spectators in a Roman coliseum, watching the lions attacking their Christian victims. The doubt settled back in.

He had to be hallucinating. He felt his life barely clinging on. The blood pumped vigorously in his ears…but then he heard it again.

'_Sammy!'_

Only Dean ever called him that regularly. His hope began to rekindle. He didn't care if it really was his brother calling or if it was just some trick his mind pulled to ease him into Death's clutches. It was working.

Reaching for the knife in the back of his jeans, he jammed it quickly into Terrance's leg. The guy howled releasing him. He bent over gasping for air. Half his body throbbed, pulling back in the much needed oxygen to get his vitals back online as it was barely cooperative in its current state. Screw it, instincts were taking over. Spinning on his knees, holding his breath, he yanked the knife out of the kneecap and walloped the guy three times with his elbow. Thick blood exuded freely out of the bulbous nose. Sam then forced his knee into Terrance's gut and once more up the broken nose.

Terrance fell backward, moaning, covering his face. The psychic horde all gazed stunned at this sudden twist. Terrance looked slightly frightened. He made a swift glance at the bloody knife held securely in Sam's right grip. "Do it," he gasped. "You coward, do it!" He closed his eyes, preparing for the end.

Angry, his nostrils flaring, Sam roared, plunging the knife down at his head.

Terrance opened his eyes and saw the knife buried up to the hilt into the dirt. Sam lowered his head. "No. I will not give into you or him. You are not worth it. He is not worth it. Even if I die, I'll die still being _me_, and not some sadistic freak's pet." He collected the knife and stood back, ready for the next recruit.

Terrance shakily lifted himself off the ground. He faced Sam already calculating the next move in round two. Sam sucked in a large breath when the psychic rushed in to strike.

"Wait, that's enough Terrance." The demon called, raising a hand. Terrance halted, giving his full attention to his leader. "You've had your fun, but your methods are clearly counterproductive. Therefore you can step down now. Let someone else have a try."

Terrance shook his head. "I can still do this sir. I won't let you down." He faced Sam again with a big sneer.

"Terrance, come back and stand with the others."

He disobeyed and ran ahead, emitting a war-cry.

The demon slowly shook his head. "Ah, Terrance, you silly boy." He tilted his palm and suddenly Terrance's neck made a complete 180 and he slid along the dirt, dead. Several of the psychics gasped, exchanging terrified glances, including Terrance's partner, Sloan. The demon stood up from the well, wiping his hands together. "Don't fret," he said to them reassuringly, "Terrance was too ambitious. His vendetta against Sam was clouding his judgment, redefining less of his place." He glared at them. "I made you, and I can easily break you. Learn the value of who you are to me, at least until this is over, and then you can fiddle with your lives however you wish. But until that time, you learn your place, your rank, and learn it well. You may do as you wish with the Winchester. I don't care if you break him in half. He, as well, needs to learn the _value_ of his place."

Sam felt his heart drop into his stomach.

The kids all moved out. In the blink of an eye, Flash zipped out of sight and before he could bat an eyelash, a sledgehammer in the form of a fist barreled into his gut, slingshotting him backwards. Lana yelled for everyone to jump up on her mark. They did and she released a current of electricity in the ground. An ear-splitting scream escaped from his lips as several thousand volts lit him up from head to toe. It felt like a carpenter was hammering in foot-long nails into his back and legs. She relented, but he still continued to spasm. The pain was unbearable, tears pooling at his eyes. An African-American girl waved her hands in the air, releasing a gust of wind comparable to a Category One hurricane. Sam rolled haphazardly away from the crowd, his body limp and useless. He spat out more blood, his insides on fire. Looks like they just found their new guinea pig.

_Please Dean! If that was you calling, now would be the time to show up. I'm not going to last another minute!_

* * *

Dean's heartbeat upped its speed. He was right upon them: they were just over this hill. He mastered it in less than four strides. The air expunged from his lungs in one long, fiery draft as he took in what lie at the bottom of the small valley. It was an abandoned town, much like something he'd find in an old John Wayne flick. Sprinting along the edge, his heart nearly stopped from overexertion at what he saw occurring: Sam stood (barely) in the dirt lane dividing the iconic prairie houses, facing an ensemble of kids with the Yellow-Eyed Demon standing behind them.

Sam fell to all fours, desperately trying to stand up. "Sammy!" His call drowned in the scores of laughter. He ran faster. He had to get to him. A girl stepped out in front of the crowd, opened both palms and surprisingly created two fireballs. She emitted a loud grunt tossing the balls of flames. They were flying too fast and Sam wasn't on his feet yet.

_Oh my God, I'm not going to make it!_

* * *

The two fireballs sped with a fury. Jumping and rolling to the side, Sam missed them by a breath's width. The heat seared his sides and legs, but there wasn't time to assess damages. Already Sloan was conjuring up another. This time she meant to maim, critically with no option of recovering. Possibly a tribute of revenge for her formal playmate. She went to throw but stopped at the sound of YEDs voice.

"Come now Sam," he said, "it really isn't all that bad. I know you've been itching for an opportunity to far superior than that of your dad, than that of your brother. This is your chance. Everything you've wanted, you can have. Just say you'll help me out."

Blood flowed freely from his sides, the desire to lie down and go to sleep ever powerful as though he just swallowed a whole bottle of **Sleepaid**. Despite the torture his body endured, he breathed through the sickness, through the pain, and stared his enemy hard in the face. "Suck it. You won't have me. Not now. Not ever."

The demon shrugged. "See, that's where you're wrong. Eventually you will come to me, it's part of your nature. Always has been. What you're doing now is just prolonging the inevitable."

"Mail me a sympathy card. The answer's still no."

"Okay," he shrugged, stepping back.

Sam knew he couldn't take one more hit. The momentary distraction with the demon helped regain some of his strength, but not enough to count. His fists clenched and his breath staggered. He waited for only a second when Celia stepped out into the clearing. The innocent religious girl he knew before was gone, replaced with an insensitive, power-craving subjugate. The pit of his stomach dropped some more. This time it would be over. How the hell was he going to get out of this one?

She spread out her hands and then slapped them together. Suddenly a shockwave of power was release heading towards him at a dangerous speed. The wave of power rippled through the houses, shattering them all in its wake. Sam had nowhere to go, no place to hide from the probable bone-shattering wave. He braced himself, having accepted that his number was definitely up.

He refused to close his eyes. The last house shattered before him, the blast sending splinters of wood into his skin, drawing blood. The pulse of the wave was just upon him…

Dean suddenly sprang out from the side of the woods, barreling into him, grabbing his arm. "Gotcha!" He pressed something in his hands and they were gone, lost in a sea of blinding green light, in time to escape the deadly shockwave.

* * *

**A/N: Hey Guys! Yup Dean finally got to Sam...about time, right? Well, we still have a long way to go before the end here and I was thinking about taking a step back a bit and returning to the drawing board. I'm finding this to be a bit boring (unless you disagree?) and so I'm going to try to hike up the suspense and the action from here. I don't know, it's not sitting well with me. The next two chapters for sure are resident in snoozeville. So, with that in mind, I won't make a post for at least another two weeks. Tis' the season and I want this to be good. If you don't agree, leave a review, and I'll make it quicker. **

**P.S. What'd you think of tonight's show? Personally, I loved it. It was a new twist, and soooo much better than the first 3 episodes of this season. My hope for this season has been rekindled, though I'm still anxious to see what the story arc is gonna be about. **

**Cheers!**


	13. Eleven: Another Ally?

**Hi guys, sorry it's been awhile. Happy Holidays! I finally have a good grasp on how to finish this story in a bang. Have no fear, though, we still have a LONG way to go. Now for this chapter, most of you won't enjoy it because it is set solely in the POV of a new character. The boys are in it, but not very much. So for those of you who are looking for brotherly moments, you'll have a lot more in the next chapter, I promise. **

**Having said that, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: "Another Ally?"**

"This is it: the moment of truth."

Three weeks Maddie Forrest had been waiting. She stood in front of her mailbox, apprehensive. In her hands was a stamped envelope. It was a response letter from the Hammond Biological Research Company, the largest, most economically successful research laboratory in the western part of Oregon. Five years of intense internships and a double degree in biology and botany should have been sufficient prerequisites. Not to mention the killer interview she conducted in front of the panel of biologists and researchers for the hiring company. The hiring agents were overly thrilled with her presentation about the natural plant remedies imitated from ancient Peruvians and how they caused stimulating effects on dopamine neurotransmitters in cerebral tissue samples from a Parkinson's carrier. She was enthusiastic, as research and firing off her shotgun are two of her favorite passions. So this was the chance of a lifetime. Salaried with benefits: finally her opportunity to leave the small town of Nestle, Idaho in the dust.

With bated breath, her eyes closed, she ripped open the top of the envelope with gusto and opened the folded letter. There was a very short paragraph. She began to read:

_To Ms. Madison Forrest, thank you for taking interest in our company. Your endeavors and prerequisites exceed far beyond our qualifications, along with an impressive interview. Recommendations were at most high given by your provided references. However, we regret to inform you that the particular position you applied for has been fulfilled by another worthy candidate…_

She quit reading, balling the paper. She bit down on her lip, a trait she had since childhood to quell the oncoming flood of tears. It was hard to determine which she had felt first as a myriad of emotions raged. She was so depressed, so frustrated that this was the twelfth interview in six months she had been turned down, and really, really pissed off that after all the schooling, die-hard hours, and energy she had applied in not just her internships, but in all her clubs, sorority, and labs, it was still not enough to find the career she trained for. Her hopes were completely dashed. This was the last resort job, and now she was still stuck in the hopeless, degrading waitressing job at the local diner.

She chucked the paper into the trashbin as she entered her studio apartment located on the second floor of the run-down apartment complex. The walls shook. The clamor of her usual drunken neighbors hollering like howler monkeys watching Monday Night football filtered through the ceiling. She could hear the 'chinks' of their bottles hitting the table through the paper-thin walls. A roach crawled by her foot. By the door was a cracked mirror. She looked into it, noting her baby blue eyes were blood-shot, her blonde hair disarrayed by the wind, and her honey cheeks swelling from anger. The crack stretched across the entire face of the mirror was created by a fight caused by the other noisy neighbors adjacent to her apartment. The walls bulged with the impacts causing the mirror to fall. The crack served only as a reminder of the squalor she would continue to live in.

And it only fueled her disappointment.

Grasping the picture frame that contained her university biology degree, she threw it like a major league softball player, the glass shattering against the tiny fridge she had in the corner. Emitting a frustrated sigh, she left.

~o()o~

**Boom!**

The glass jar resting on top of the rickety fencepost exploded.

**Boom!**

The jar next to the first now vanished into thousands of pieces.

**Boom!**

The third and last jar went without a fight, it too, disappearing for good.

The 20-gauge Smith & Wesson shotgun bucked in her hand, clicking, indicating the barrel was empty. She reloaded a couple more rounds into the chamber and placed several unopened soda cans on the fenceposts where the jars previously sat. Keeping both eyes open, on the target, she slowly drew in a breath and released it, pulling the trigger. The soda can burst, spritzing out black liquid in a fan, falling off the post.

Bullseye! Straight in the middle, like her uncle had taught her.

Shooting inanimate objects was always a favorite pastime, and a great stress reliever. Anytime she was anguished by something: a qualifier's exam, a huge interview, or her father's passing, she'd come down to the Range and shoot off a few cans. The Range was what Uncle Blue called the spit of unclaimed property just off the river. He wasn't really her uncle: a family friend who grew up with her father, who loved and protected her and her mom like they were his own family. Anytime it was his turn to babysit –which was quite often as her mother had to work and he was unemployed – he would travel up for a couple of weeks since she was five and taught her how to shoot, how to trap game, and how to survive in the wild. He even taught her a thing or two about homemade remedies which instigated her love for plant remedial research.

Concentrate on your mark and release, he would say. Seldom knew Uncle Blue was a patient man. He came off as strong, vigilant, an urban cowboy who loved taking care of his farm full of junkcars and dogs, with a mean attitude to ward off any unwanted passersby. But to Maddie, he was gentle, sympathetic, and downright adamant that she learn the skill. She developed a real passion for it, and for her fifteenth birthday, he gave her his custom designed Smith & Wesson rifle. She liked this one because it had a pentagram carved into it. Uncle Blue was also a superstitious man. He always called her every night asking if she had locked the doors and kept a line of salt at the doorjam, saying it was for good luck.

There was a red electric box suspended thirty yards away on the other side of the fence. The red light blinked on and off, indicating the wire anchored to the posts was alive, ready to shock anyone and anything to Hell if they touched it. It mainly was there to keep the Arabians in. They were mischievous, smart creatures that had a knack for escaping, especially the Hackney-Thoroughbred pony that led their group on occasion. Maddie never liked the wire. She always liked the sight of the horses jumping the fence and taking off into the potato and wheat fields. Seeing the flashing light gave her an idea.

"Here's to you Uncle Blue," she whispered focusing on the mark. The box exploded, jettisoning red sparks. The power died and not two minutes later, the silver Arabians took flight across the fence.

~o()o~

She returned to the slum she paid rent for, dropping the empty gun to the floor and quickly flopping languidly on her moth-eaten sofa, switching on the TV. **Channel 87** news was on. One of the few channels her antenna-ears could pick up. Luckily it was a good channel which played her favorite show: "Paranormal Detective", a drama about a guy who is psychic that solves homicidal mysteries. Her choices are very limited, she reminds herself everyday. And that was just a reprieve every Thursday.

The news broadcaster commentated on about several reports concerning families of those whose kids had disappeared over the past several months were killed in their homes. Severe thunderstorms raged in the Plains. Homes all throughout Wyoming and South Dakota damaged beyond repair where FEMA had to step in, giving aide to many that were now homeless. She watched uninterestedly as the reporter went on about the swarms of cattle and fish dying without any real answer. Several Fish and Game departments conclude it to be a mystery just like the phenomenon of thousands of birds lay dead, scattered all over the roadways in Louisiana two years prior. _It sure is weird_, she thought.

The landline rang.

"Hello…hi mom," she placed the receiver between her ear and shoulder, lowering the volume from the remote. "No. I just got in from the Range" – she rolled her eyes emitting a loud huff – "Yeah, I know you don't like it, but my day sucked ass, so I had to shoot something. You're lucky I didn't come over and shoot that cat of yours. He drives me nuts….No, why would I know anything about Alex?"

She checked her watch as her mother asked her if she heard anything about her cousin, Alex, who went missing much like the other kids the news broadcaster spoke of. He, along with a girl named Celia, disappeared during a pep rally for his university football team. According to his friends and teammates, he ran with the team for the first hour, went to get a drink of water at the hallway water fountain and never came back. Others said the girl Celia was in the grandstands and had vanished on the spot.

"Mom, odds are, knowing that prissy asshole, he is having a temper tantrum and skipped town for a few days," she rolled her eyes again – a fond habit when speaking to mommy dearest – "I'm telling you he'll show up when he wants to."

It was hard to reason with her mother at this time as her aunt Darlene was frantic about her son. But Maddie could understand why her family would be skeptical of her consideration. She never got along with her cousin. He was spoiled the moment he popped into the world, growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth. When his father left, it provided a nasty excuse to be belligerent, bratty, and be just a downright dick. She was the exact opposite, having learned responsibility at a very young age and learned to be independent. Alex was mean, a bully to many, and very pampered.

The very few times she and her mom would unite with her Aunt Darlene, it would be very miserable trips. Her cousin had a habit for teasing her about her frizzy hair, her size ten jeans – calling her fat- smacking her around a bit while tossing out the rest of whatever meal she ate, and when his things "somehow" went missing, he'd accused her of theft, using that as leverage to go through her belongings and picking out whatever he wanted. The last time he had a major tantrum, pissed off that she only brought clothes and a book to choose from. In retaliation, he stole her entire ensemble of bras and panties and sold them to his friends. Maddie had reached her breaking point and then proceeded to smash a heavy vase over his head, where then she marched upstairs to his room as he reeled on the floor, partly drifting in and out of unconsciousness. She opened his window, tossed out his TV, computer, and vanity mirror, along with unveiling his collection of porn mags and tossing them out too.

She and her mom left, and haven't seen her cousin or Aunt Darlene since. Her mom and her aunt spoke often, but absolutely refused to risk a reunion in case the grudge between the two of them hadn't waned. It had been five years. Surely when the brat had gone off to college, he had matured. But Maddie highly doubted it, and quite frankly didn't care.

"….Mom, you know where I stand in this matter. If he shows up, he shows up. If he doesn't, the world's a better place….You're right, you shouldn't have called about him…"-a beep sounded –"oh, hang on mom, I have a call waiting." For once, she didn't have to make up an excuse not to talk to her mom. "Fine, I'll talk to you later."

She clicked for the other line. "Hello." It was Gary, her manager from the diner. He relayed that he needed her to work the night shift. "Crystal called out sick again! Are you flipping kidding me? This is the third time in two weeks. Not sure about you, but I'm starting to see a pattern here." Letting out a rough sigh, she rolled her eyes for a third time that night. "Alright fine, I'm coming. But I want my own tips tonight, and none of that pool shit."

~o()o~

The rain came down in buckets. The wipers on her little Sedan could barely keep up with the magnitude of the downpour. Though there were no other cars in front of her, she went at a slow pace, hardly able to see the road through the night. It was already a wretch to have to go in to work to cover for a lazy person, but to risk her life to do so was an even bigger one. She cursed her boss all down route 69, and cursed her car for being a piece of shit to barely function. It bucked constantly like it wanted to stall out, and the faster the speed, the louder the rattling beneath the carriage echoed. It was an embarrassment.

On and on down the black road she went, cursing, waiting for the storm to let up –which seemed to come out of nowhere. It must have been a remnant of the storms wreaking havoc in South Dakota. She hadn't seen one this fierce in…well, ever.

Suddenly, up ahead, was a bright green flash. The light consumed her windshield blinding her momentarily. She slammed on the brakes and covered her eyes. The car screeched to a halt. The light dimmed and she blinked.

What the hell was that? Lightning? No, there was no sound to it. No thunder. Besides when has lightning ever produced green light.

Through the pour, she looked and looked. There were no cars. No animals running across the road. No airplanes…or none that she could see. Even if there was and it crashed, it would have produced a sound, a seismic boom, radio static, or something?

She waited to see if something would move on the road. The flash seemed to be coming from the woods, maybe a half mile from where the diner is.

When nothing moved, she shrugged, putting the Sedan back into first gear and carried on to the job she hated the most. She prayed that it would be busy so that it would go by in a blur and she wouldn't remember it.

~o()o~

And it turned out to be quite a slow night, the rain deterring people from leaving their homes. Aside from a few truckers, food service was slow, slow, slow. She swore the president could come in and it still wouldn't make it an interesting night. Of course, would you fancy a seat-in at the "Cosmic Dog"?

The "Cosmic Dog" or the "Dirty Dog" the staff-elected nickname for the small establishment was a truck stop just a mile off the main interstate. It was dirty, grease hung in the air, and it often was consumed in cigarette smoke – despite the new law prohibiting the use of cigarettes in restaurants. Cockroaches crawled all throughout the kitchen, and at one time Maddie found a copperhead snake in a pantry. Pete, the cook, caught it and deep-fried it in the boiler, serving it up in the "Steak and Ale" soup. The manager, Gary, was a heavy-set man who wore an overly large toupee and tight clothing. He constantly had rosy cheeks due to high blood pressure. The man couldn't handle stress very well and so released it in the back with a bottle of Jack.

It was a last resort job Maddie ventured into by the help of her friend "Lisa" who also worked alongside her. She worked as a waitress for the duration of summers to save up for college each year. Once out of college, jobless, reluctantly she came back and since has been unable to find a fair career since.

Lisa leaned against the counter admiring her cherry-red nails, twisting a lock of curly black hair with her right index finger. She had olive skin, voluptuous red lips, and a rail-thin body. Nearly every trucker who came in hit on her, and there would be a few nights she'd go home with them. Maddie had been hit on before, but due to her gag reflex going strong, and an insane urge not to get an STD, she politely dismissed their proposal.

Except tonight. She wouldn't have minded if the usual big, burly brute hit on her: it would give her something to do. The shop had only three covers, who were being taken care of by Bryce, the other server, leaving her and Lisa bored.

"You know Crystal only took off cuz she had a date with that dick from Meritage," said Lisa in her western drawl. Lisa had a knack at gossip. Anything she heard, she made sure it went around. "And I heard that this guy is a player. Always looking for his next catch. Susie told me he went to Atlantic City, got so drunk, rented two Russian strippers, and came back with Chlamydia."

"That's disgusting." Maddie answered. "And how certain are you that this actually happened?"

"Cuz Susie got Chlamydia. She slept with him and he told her everything."

"Yeah, I'm sure that was the case."

"Ah come on Mads. You never believe anything I say."

"With good reason," Maddie said under her breath.

The door opened and in came a man, rough looking as though he went through a few rounds in a cage-fight match: his leather jacket and clothes soaked from the rain, and his jeans were tattered. There was blood visible through the holes of his jeans and just beneath the wet hairline. Maddie blinked. Despite his ragged appearance, he was astoundingly _hot_. His green eyes locked onto hers and she felt instant warmth spreading outwards from her heart. She broke away from the eye-contact and that warmth ceased. He looked away too heading straight for the counter beside one of the truckers. He started speaking with a dream-like voice to Bryce.

Lisa stood up straight, licking her lips. "Speaking of a catch, ooh, yum. I'd like to take that home."

Maddie went rigid, her breath catching in her throat. Suddenly she felt very self-conscious and went about flattening the frizz off the top of her head, straightening out the wrinkles in her yellow waitress dress, and smoothing out her eyeliner. Lisa caught her eye. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm just…you know, straightening up." She stuttered, which was a first for her. Even she was stupefied by this. No man had ever made her feel this way. Sure, he was cute, and rugged, but odds are, he was one of those delinquent oh-so-charming players that had insecure, shallow girls eating out of the palm of his hand, and then he would use them to satisfy his needs, and then discard them like yesterday's leftovers. She avoided guys such as these like the plague.

Lisa licked her lips. "I think I'm gonna go fishing."

She went to move down the counter, where instantly Maddie held out a hand to stop her. "Not this time." And she began heading in the man's direction. The shorter the distance between her and this man became, the quicker she began to lose her breath, her heart beating way too fast. _What the hell is wrong with me? More than likely this guy is a ruffian, or an outcast from the mob. He has tough wingnut written all over him_. She took one long look into his soaked, glimmering face and that zesty feeling was back. It was like she was drunk, having no control over her actions or feelings. She smiled and smiled big.

And then she began to feel her smile diminish. The man took whatever food Bryce gave to him: two baguettes and a cup of soup, and then snuck his hand into the trucker's jacket, stealthily removing a set of keys. He then left a ten on the counter and swiftly left back out into the dead of night. Maddie suddenly felt very afraid. Just as she assumed, he was a convict. And she was attracted to him, what the hell? She thought about calling the cops, because obviously the guy had intended on stealing the man's ride. But something, perhaps her hormones, bade her to follow him, call him out before he committed the crime, and perhaps negotiate with him.

That was ludicrous. The best thing to do was to call the cops.

But that's not what she found herself doing. She skirted around Lisa, ignoring the remark "Aw, too bad. Maybe next time hun", and headed out the back door. She grabbed her umbrella, but luckily the rain had stopped. The damp air was chilly, having an icy bite. She bit her lip, slightly hesitant, carrying on, strolling towards the back lot where the tractor-trailers all were parked. She listened for the start of an engine, but to her surprise heard none. Passing by grill after grill, she quietly looked in between each truck for the man. She swore he pulled out the keys of the guy who said he was delivering a shipment from Sacramento. But so far, out of the ten trucks she passed, he was nowhere to be found.

Then she heard it: whispering.

As she neared, she overheard someone say "Come on, try it. You need to eat something Sammy." Quietly she came around the back end of the truck and saw towards the front the man holding out the sliver of bread to another man sitting half in and out of the passenger seat of the truck. He, too, was rugged in appearance, but far off worse than the man who entered the diner. He held onto his stomach with a wan pallor. He nibbled on the portion of bread given to him and a second later he threw it back up, the other guy jumping out of the way in time. She slowly crept closer. The man continued to encourage the other to eat something, cursing in return. When the sick man wouldn't oblige, the other said, "We need to get you out of here now. I'll get your legs." As he bent down, she caught sight of a necklace in the shape of a pentagram hanging from his neck, along with the glimmer of a handgun.

Startled, Maddie called out, "Hey!"

The leather-clad man suddenly spun around pointing the gun with lightning-fast reflexes to the likes Maddie had never seen before. She threw up her hands ready to scream when the man said dangerously, "Don't do that. You'll drop before you let off the first squeak."

The potential cry for help died in her throat. She stuttered, "I…I'm sorry…I…I d-don't want any trouble."

"Neither do I." The stare intensified. It made her quiver slightly. "Now go back inside and keep quiet. You got it?"

"Uh…well…well, wait! What do you need to steal a truck for?"

"What did I say?"

Maddie felt rooted to the spot, curiosity winning over the logical choice to flee. "Are you on the run from the cops?"

The man laughed, his head sinking. "Ha ha, I wish."

"The mafia, then?"

"Lady I'm not in the mood for a Q and A. As you can see, I'm a little preoccupied here and I'd much rather get my sick brother out of here. There are some things far worse than some mafia druglord. You never saw us here. Now go!"

She trembled, "I guess you're running from demons, then?"

The man paused, his eyes widening, and then in less than a second, he was on top of her, pinning her up against the truck siding. She was so stunned, she could barely move, her vocal cords failing her. He yanked her hair back whereby began to pour water down her throat from a flask. It was stale and lukewarm and she choked on it. He then stepped back placing an elbow into her throat and the gun to her head. She had never been so terrified in her life.

"Okay, so you're not one of them, then who are you? What do you know about demons?"

She was afraid to answer. "Answer me now, or—"

"Dean! Stop it!" The other man called weakly. He stumbled down the ledge and leaned against the truck. "Stop. She's innocent. Leave her alone."

At the command, the man, Dean, backed off. Maddie fell to the ground coughing, softly sobbing. Closing his eyes in regret, the man knelt down holding the gun out for her to see and then placing it on the asphalt. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm a…little high-strung right now. My brother and I are in a load of trouble. We can't afford to take any chances even to a pretty girl like you. Can you stand?"

Maddie thought carefully about this question. She could, but she wasn't sure if this was some ploy to deceive her, for her to trust him, and then to kill her later on.

"I'm not going to kill you. Come on," he held out a hand. She hesitated, glancing at the brother who nodded his head. "Take it."

She took the hand and he gently pulled her to her feet. Breathless, she exclaimed, "Who the fuck are you guys?"

"Listen," it was the brother. He looked like he was ready to keel over any second. His legs were shaking and he was sweating profusely. "We're not going to hurt you, but we have to be careful. Anyone we come into contact with is in danger. Alright, now what's your name?"

"M-Maddie."

"Okay, Maddie. I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean." He shakily took a step forward. Dean flitted across, swung his arm over his shoulder and hoisted him up. Maddie began to feel a bit at ease. She could now see they were desperate. "And my brother's right. We're in a bit of trouble. But your safety comes first…we—"

"What do you know about demons?" Dean interrupted.

Maddie felt that vice-like grip around her throat again, barricading any words to come through. That stare was just too powerful.

The brother sighed, exhausted. "Please Maddie, tell him."

She crossed her arms. "Not much. I just overheard my uncle Blue talking to my dad when I was a kid. I thought it was some kind of joke or that my uncle was thumping the bible pretty hard. He always covered our house in crazy stuff. He used to call me every night to make sure I still had salt by my door."

The both of them perked up and exchanged glances. "Who's your uncle?"

"Well, he's not really my uncle. He's just a family friend. I haven't heard from him in about a week. I went to his house once, and saw all this stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Books. Papers. Newspaper clippings of supposed haunted houses and weird freak accidents. It was kinda weird. He's a great guy, but he's really superstitious and crazy."

Dean laughed. "No, those terrorist bastards in the Middle East are crazy. We're just nuts. Take some advice: go home and stay there for a couple days. But we've got to go. Anyone comes around here asking, just tell them we came in for food and went west." He turned to leave.

Maddie jumped ahead. "Hey wait! I can help."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can. Look I'm no dummy. Your brother is very sick and by the looks of it, you're not in the clear either. You both aren't going to get very far, even if you somehow have the stamina to drive all night to wherever."

"I'll be fine," was Sam's weak reply. This was more directed at his brother than to her.

"My point exactly. At least come to my house for a small while. Rest up. I have everything you'll possibly need for medical treatment, and for protection."

Dean pondered for a moment. "No."

"It'll just be until morning, and then you can go. No tricks. No double-crossing. No obligation. No nothing."

The brother was still hesitant. "Why would we trust you?"

She huffed. "No offense, but it seems to me your list of allies is running a bit thin, otherwise you would have called in backup and wouldn't be taking ole' Billie Jean's ride. I ain't gonna bite."

Sam smiled and then said, "Dean, we should go. We need a leg up since we're in no condition to be committing Grand Theft Auto. This just might be it. We kinda owe her anyway."

"Sammy, if we do this, and they find her, that's on us."

"We're running out of time Dean. I'm not going to be able to keep it together for much longer." Dean still looked unconvinced.

Maddie lowered her arms turning around. "Don't give me the stiff just yet honey. I'm a better catch than the man-eater inside. Besides, if you need cover, especially a secluded area to rest up in for a bit, my uncle owns a cabin not too far from here. It'll have everything you need."

The man's taut face relaxed a fraction. "Fine. But you follow by my rules. You do as I say, no argument. We get there, you leave us and go."

"You've got a deal Eduardo. Blood monies are on the table. Now enough with the chit-chat, let's get out of here before your friends show up."

Sam quietly laughed while Dean partially carried him, following her towards her little Sedan. He kept a persistent eye on her back as he laid his brother down in the back seat, keeping the gun trained on her at all times. She started up the car, her eye following him as he crossed the front of the car and entered the passenger seat. She took a shaky breath.

"You can put the gun down now. I'm not going to morph into the Wicked Witch of the West, you know?"

He smirked. "I'm sorry, but the nose of this baby ain't dropping till this car stops."

Maddie nodded, gulping. "Okay. Well, this is going to be a fun ride."


	14. Twelve: A Fox's Den

**Because I've been gone for so long, I've decided to be nice to ya'll and give you another chapter. This will have more of that brother bonding we missed so far, and I've also included a little bit of emotion as well. You might not be so accepting of the new character addition of Madison, but every character I introduce has a purpose. Keep reading and you'll see. :P **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: "A Fox's Den."**

They were driving now along route 33 heading west towards Uncle Blue's cabin located on the western part of the state. Dean agreed as long as it resided in a remote location away from any city or suburbia. Maddie relayed that it was well secluded in the woods, twenty miles away from the nearest town. Blue had her come out there often to clean it for extra cash on the side. She said it would provide much protection as it contained several more pentagram signs marked on the floor, iron bars on the windows, and a crucifix suspended on the kitchen sink faucet, items she said she considered to be part of his eccentric superstition.

Before they could carry on with their travels, Maddie had to go back to her apartment for clothes, books, and the basic essential: the cabin's key. Dean was anxious for her to grab what she needed quickly as he stayed in the car with Sam, who had fallen fast asleep. He yearned to steal the car and head off without the girl, but his injuries kept him from doing so. Sam still was a bloody mess, his pallor chalk-white, and his injuries profound with the rasp of his voice, the sharp inhales of air, and the occasional quiver in his shoulders.

While waiting, Dean continued to think of his car and press the pearl button on the trinket Caroline had given him. The Impala had Sam's medicine in there. How he had forgotten to bring the ziplock baggie, he didn't know? At this point, he would love to have his bag of arsenal. That was probably still lying somewhere on the cold ground around that pioneer village. Other than getting Sam to a safe place, his biggest desire was to call Caroline. But he refused to call her name, for fear of attracting unwarranted attention. There weren't only demons after them, but angels as well. He saw how powerful she was in handling the demons at the Roadhouse. Imagine encountering one of those baddies. There wasn't any question about it. Laying low was their only option. Only, the problem was, the necklace trick wasn't working. He figured it had only enough juice for a one-way trip. Either way they had to keep on the move.

Soon after stopping, Maddie's Sedan had pulled out onto the highway heading through the vast wilderness of Idaho. Dean consistently kept checking his watch, leaning over in between the two front seats, and feeling Sam's forehead. His brother barely twitched at the touch. He felt clammy, still sweating.

"How much longer?" he asked Maddie.

"About another half hour. And it would go a lot faster if you dropped the gun," she barked.

Acquiescing, Dean lowered the pistol. "Just get us there."

~o()o~

Roughly twenty-five minutes, they were pulling into the long driveway leading to Uncle Blue's cabin. It was a square block of a building, log-style, covered in moss and ivy, hidden well in the depths of the forest. Dean studied it quickly through the Sedan's high-beams. It was quaint and intimate, a proper hideout for a hunter. Though he couldn't put his finger on it, it had an air of familiarity with it, almost like he had been there at one time in his life before.

"This'll have to do."

Maddie sent a querulous look, "Well, it's the best I have to offer."

"No, it's fine," Dean added. "Perfect actually."

"I'm glad you changed your mind, cuz I was about to smack you."

Dean bucked, surprised at the comeback. With the slight agitation the girl emitted, he never took her to be frisky. It sort of brought a small smile.

Maddie parked the Sedan and unhooked the keys. "Okay, I'll go open up, you get your brother."

"Yes ma 'me."

Soon Dean hauled a barely cooperative Sam through the front door, quickly taking in what their crash-pad looked like. That sense of familiarity rang again as Dean recognized the late 80's designed couches, the ataman, the cement fireplace –where Maddie was busy twisting newspaper into kindling to light a fire – and a kitchenette space behind an island counter. It was so familiar Dean already had ushered Sam through a hallway located on the right towards the bedroom at the far end. He pushed open the creaky door, turned on the light, and plopped his sibling on the creaky bed at the far wall. A plume of dust puffed around them.

Maddie entered carrying a bowl with water and a first-aid kit, breaking open the new seal while Dean undressed Sam. He found a knife with a serrated edge in the inside pocket. Shrugging, he placed it on the dresser. Sam's fever began to spike, so Dean immediately put on a cold compress. He then took his shirt off, biting his lip at all the bruises and abrasions. He could tell from some of the purple around Sam's midriff there were some cracked ribs. Sam shuddered at his touch.

"Sorry buddy, gotta assess and report the damage," said Dean sympathetically. He turned to Maddie, "Wouldn't happen to have any whiskey and some needle and thread, would ya?"

"Uhhh…" she raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah, needle and thread? Ya got anything like that?"

"Erm…I think my mom may have left a sewing kit here a few years ago. Not sure how effective it would be."

"S'okay. Just give me what you got."

"Okay," she replied a little unsure and then left to find the sewing kit. She came back a few minutes later with a rusty metal tin. The materials were outdated, but that didn't stop Dean. Pulling out his zippo, he torched the needle to sterilize it and then went about stitching up the worst of Sam's wounds.

Maddie helped clean most of the dirt from off Sam's face and torso while Dean stitched up the deep cuts on his arms and one located in between his ribs. "Dean, he needs a doctor."

"No, the place is crawling."

She scoffed in disbelief. "Okay, come on. You don't really believe in this demon stuff, do you? I went along with it just to help you guys out, but now looking at your brother, this paranoid delusion has gone far enough!" He glared at her. Every dormant instinct within her awoke and bade her to back away, but she refused. "Don't tell me you actually believe it?"

Dean took a deep breath. "What did I say about questions?" Maddie pursed her lips, ready to retaliate when he soughed deeply and said, "Look, I don't expect you to believe me. I haven't expected you to go along with us. In fact, I'm surprised you did. And honestly, it doesn't matter if it is demons, or the Mob, or the Feds on our tails. The problem is going out in public would put us more in danger than holing up here for a bit. Got it?"

Maddie gulped. "Got it."

"'Sides, you have an issue with my 'beautiful mind'?"

"Hmmm…no."

"Good answer."

"I'll go getcha some more terry-cloths."

"That'll be great, thanks."

She left, leaving Dean to have a few minutes alone with Sam. His brother tiredly gazed at him. Whispering, he said, "Thanks Dean."

Dean peered up from the stitches. "For what?"

"For not killing her. And for coming to get me. I thought you had died."

"Yup, there you go thinking again," he softly laughed, biting into the thread. He pulled out his zippo and re-sterilized the needle after wiping off the blood. "I had some help."

"Oh, Bobby?"

Dean paused, growing stiff. Tears began spilling before he could stop them, his body's exhaustion eminent. "Sammy, I…"

Sam instantly read his face, and a grave expression grew of his own. "No."

Dean implored deeply, wanting absolution, wanting him to understand. His throat was so dry, it hurt. More tears fell. "I tried, but it was too late."

"Noooo," Sam moaned, "No, no, no, no, no!"

"Sammy…"

"NO! It's not true Dean. It's not true!"

Maddie returned with the cloths. "What's going on in here?"

"Maddie, could we have a minute alone, please?"

"Oh!" She understood. "Uh, yeah, yeah, sure." She slowly closed the door appearing concerned.

Dean closed his eyes and took Sam's hand into his own. His brother stiffened, imploring into his face, wanting a reprieve, wanting some form of solace, or currently some form of a lie; anything but the words that their mentor and friend have passed on. "Sam, listen to me. Bobby's gone. He's gone. I tried to save him, but I couldn't. I burned him in the clearing outside his house. It's what he would have wanted."

Sam tried to sit up. "It was the demon. I'm going to kill him."

"Sam, don't move."

"I'm going to dice him into pieces, hang his innards for all those assholes to see. I'm not going to stop" – the water bowl bounced up and down before sling-shotting across the room and shattering into a million shards. Dean jumped up, startled. Then, the four windows slammed up and down, repeatedly. Maddie began knocking on the door, but it held firmly locked. "Damn him. Damn him for doing this to us. It's just not enough, is it?" Sam stammered. The angrier he became, more objects began to fly.

Dean was now afraid. He realized this was part of what the demon had done to his brother. Quickly he had to calm him down before Sam's anger brought the whole place down. He dropped down and pulled the boy into a fierce bear-hug. Sam resisted, trying to twist from his grip, releasing an alarming amount of expletives. It was amazing to Dean how much energy Sam's rage could power him up, despite being weaker than a newborn kitten just a few minutes ago.

"Let me go Dean."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not."

"Shhh, stop. It's going to be okay."

"Get off me!" The tears were back and his strength was waning. The windows stopped opening and closing, and the objects stopped spinning around the room. "I said, get off me! I have to find him. I have to kill him!"

"You can't kill him Sammy. You leave right now, and that is if you can make it across to the bathroom without falling on your face, he'll ice you so fast, it'll be like swatting a fly. So stop. There's nothing you can do right now."

Sam's protest ceased immediately, his energy finally drained. He fell limp in Dean's arms and Dean kindly guided him back to the bed. Sam fell mute, giving in to his exhaustion. He didn't have any more energy to flinch or whine as Dean continued to patch him up.

After all the abrasions were cleaned and the deep cuts were stitched, Dean put Sam's bloodied shirt on. "Don't worry Sammy. We'll get him. I promise. We won't stop until he's six feet under and never coming back."

"Okay," Sam mumbled, closing his eyes.

"Good, you get some sleep." Dean patted his head.

Five minutes later, Sam was well comfortable having fallen into a deep slumber under the moth-eaten moldy blankets. Even after the cleaning, his complexion was very pallid, his breathing deep and labored. It had Dean irritated with anxiety. The kid needed his medication and soon. Especially after that telekinetic outburst, who knew how much more strain he put on his over-taxed heart? He sighed in despair.

As he left the room, he saw Maddie on his cell phone. He paused, alarmed.

She shook her head, "I'm calling my Uncle Blue, letting him know I'm here. But he's not picking up."

Dean moved around, still staring, highly suspicious.

She huffed. "Calm down kitten. No one's answering. I'm not some secret spy for your demon buddies. You mind telling me what the hell went on in there?"

"I got clumsy. My mistake." He shook off the question. "Some advice though: don't call anyone. Your mom? Your dad—"

"No worries there. My dad's dead."

Dean paused, at a loss. "Well you get the meaning."

"Yea, yea I get it," she shrugged, "but in all seriousness I wanted to talk to him more about this demon thing. If there's anyone who could tell me it's bullshit, it'd be him."

"You really don't believe me, do you?"

"No. Sorry."

"Good, I'm glad to hear that. Besides what more is there to know? Demons are real and they're planning the end of the world. Simple as you can get."

"Yeahhh," she drawled, "so if you don't mind me asking, what exactly happened to you?"

Dean sighed. "Sweetheart, it's a long story."

"Give me the short version then."

"Okay, we got our asses handed to us. End of story. Anymore and you would know too much."

"Ugh, you're such a prude."

"Thank you."

"Whatever," she crossed over to the kitchenette and filled a new water bowl. "Alright puddam, your turn." At the confused look, she pointed a finger at his injuries. "S'gotta take a look at 'cha. So get over here, that's an order."

It was like listening to his father all over again. Dean strutted over and sat on the pulled-out bar stool as directed. He took off his leather jacket and tee, revealing the deep gash wounds left by the hellhound and other juicy tidbits of inflamed flesh. Maddie instantly went to work in cleaning up the crusty holes with iodine and gauze. Dean hissed, constantly taking huge gulps of hunter's helper whiskey. To keep his thoughts off the searing pain and insane itch, he looked around finding more of the protective enchantments Maddie mentioned her Uncle had. He found _sharpied_ pentagrams under each door and window. The paint was so faint it could be barely be seen. Outlines of iron framed each window, plus there was the herb "Devil's Shoestring" that is mostly used to ward off hellhounds. He admired the man's handiwork, that familiar sense kicking him in the groin once more. Did he come here in a dream?

"Yeah, who's your Uncle again?"

"Uncle Blue?"

"Yeah, what's his real name?"

"Uh," she paused, "I don't know actually. Never did learn his real name."

"And he's your uncle?"

"No, remember I said he's a family friend. Was a friend of my dad's when I was growing up. He taught me how to hunt and shoot basically."

"When's the last time you talked with him?"

"A little more than a week ago, why?"

"Is he a hunter?"

"Yeah. He goes out hunting every other day. Says he doesn't like the stale stuff they sell at the store. Owns a junkyard in South Dakota. But he has told me before that he makes a decent living as the town drunk."

"South Dakota, huh? That's where we're from."

"Really?"

"Sort of…ahh," he hissed again when she dabbed a very acute spot on his shoulder. "We lived with a man who took us in, gave us a place to stay after our own father died. His name was Bobby."

"You sound sad."

He bit his lip, the tears threatening to spill again. "He died nearly a week ago. I just told Sam. That's why we were both a mess."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry to hear that."

"I know you don't believe it, but a demon came to our house, killed him, left me for dead, and took Sam to some god-awful place. I just barely got him back."

"Oh my God Dean. That's terrible. Did you call the cops?"

He laughed. "The cops are better off left out of this. And shit, I shouldn't be telling you this."

"Who the hell am I going to tell? It's not like anyone will believe this story!"

"That's not the point. The more I tell you, the more danger I put you in, and my conscience is already being a bitch as it is." She let out an enormous sigh. Dean could tell the lack of information was frustrating for her. But hey, the way he figured it, ignorance was bliss.

She stepped away for a minute to grab more supplies out of the first aid kit.

Surreptitiously he took her phone off the counter and dialed the recent caller. It wasn't a number he recognized, obviously, which didn't help his suspicion. He didn't care if she came back from the restroom infuriated. Sammy's protection was far too important.

The number rang and rang until it finally went to voicemail. Listening to the voice, he sprang from the stool, in deep shock. _Holy Shit, it can't be!_ He tore the phone from his ear and began scrolling its picture contents. There beside Uncle Blue's registry name was a picture…_oh my God!_

It was a grainy picture of Bobby and a five-year old Maddie sitting next to a Christmas tree. The phone nearly dropped out of his hand.

Maddie came back with a bigger roll of gauze, noticing he was rigid holding her phone. "Dean, what the—"

"B-Bobby Singer? You knew him?"

"Bobby Singer? Uh, his name sounds familiar, but I don't know who? Why?"

"This man?" He showed her the cell photo. "You knew this man?"

"Yeah, that's Uncle Blue."

Dean fell back onto the stool, his head plummeting into his hands. Maddie sat next to him. "Dean, what's going on? Do you know Uncle Blue?"

Holding back a sob, Dean pulled out his phone and scrolled through its contents, coming to a picture of he and Bobby only recently when he was fifteen. He showed her this. She gasped. "This is Bobby Singer, the man who took my brother and I in. The man who was more like a father to me. The man I just buried several days ago."

Everything in Maddie's hands fell from her grasp. Tears sprang to her eyes and she covered her mouth with her iodine-stained hands. "No!" The tears leaked. "No, it's not true. No!"

"I'm sorry it is." And that's when it occurred to him. He had been in this cabin before. When his father and Bobby were out scouring for a chupacabra, Bobby had John bring he and Sam to this cabin when they were kids. He nearly forgot it completely. It still struck him though. He knew Bobby had many secrets, but never did it occur to him that he had a secret family; albeit not blood related, but a friend, and a protector nonetheless. Dean couldn't help but feel responsible for alerting the news to Maddie, even if he did so unknowingly.

"I'm gonna go check on Sam, give you a minute." She nodded as he left. He figured it was best to let the girl have a moment to grieve. It was still debilitating to think about Bobby's passing. There was so much he needed the man on. And he would never come back. All that kept his fragile state from disintegrating was rehabilitating his brother. The battle of the century was underway and he needed Sam alive and at full strength.

~o()o~

Alive and full strength, apparently, would have to be put on hold. Just one look at his brother's appearance and Dean immediately shot out the door. Sam was steadily becoming worse. There wasn't any time. He needed to find some form of medicine and pump it into the boy. It didn't look like he was going to make it much longer.

Striding heavily into the kitchen, he grabbed for his over-shirt and jacket, careful to not stretch his injuries as he put them on. Maddie dabbed at her eyes and gave him her full attention. Silently he remarked how pretty she was when upset. If Sam's well-being wasn't at the forefront of his mind, he'd pull out the snake-charmer welcome mat and try to cheer her up. Instead he worked to find her keys.

"I've got to go." He said.

"Why? Where? And at this time?"

"Sammy's getting worse. He needs his medicine pronto." He finished putting on his jacket. "Go around and make sure all the salt lines around the windows and doors are in tact. We can't risk a weak link in the barrier." Could he trust her? It was crazy, but he felt like he had no choice.

"Dean, I don't understand. Nothing is open at this time."

"Eh, it's probably better that they're not open…"

Maddie tried to reason with him. "Dean, I'm sure I have something here I can give Sam…"

"I sincerely doubt it. He needs something specific." She looked curious. He huffed, caring for only a brief explanation. "A while ago Sam had a heart transplant and his medicine is there to insure that his new heart doesn't kick the bucket."

"Ah, you mean immunosuppressants."

"Yeah, exactly."

"I actually have some cyclosporine here we can give him. It's an antibiotic derived from a soil-based fungus. It won't take care of the problem, but it'll sure be something to give him now, make him last throughout the night."

Dean was all for the idea, but he'd much rather use something approved by the FDA. "No, that's okay. I don't want to take the chance of a chemical reaction, not when he's this weak. Thank you, but I'd feel better with a prescription note."

"And where are you going to go? It's past midnight."

"I'll head into town, track down a pharmacy there. When I come back, you'd best start thinking about moving on."

"And why's that?" she placed her hands on her bony hips.

"Because we never should have come here. I was rash in my thinking for putting you in harm's way, desperate I think."

"I'm not in harm's way."

"Yes, you are. Our scent is all over this place now. They'll track us here, and if you're still here by the time we've left, you're dead. There are no making deals. They'll either possess you or kill you. I'm sorry."

"I see."

"I won't try to be long. Don't mind if I take the Sedan."

She shrugged. "It's not like you've got anything else to drive."

"Touché. Stay put, and don't mess with any of the wards. One scratch on those devil traps and the gig is up, ya hear?"

"I hear. Now go. I'll keep an eye on Sam."

Dean didn't need to be told twice. He left for the Sedan and was lurching it down the sodden driveway towards the closest town.

~o()o~

There was a terrible throbbing in his frontal lobe. Sleep was no longer an option as the throb pulsed unmercifully throughout his entire cranium. Sam groaned, yearning to fall into the blissful slumber once more. But the minute he became aware, he noticed everything about him just hurt. He opened his eyes a fraction, shutting them against the light. It was dim, yet so bright.

The door opened and in came Maddie, loosely carrying a rifle. She appeared to be sad. Maybe Dean yelled at her again? He wouldn't be surprised. His brother was entirely on edge and he knew his current health and latest revelation about Bobby had put him there. Ugh, if only he was stronger. He would get out of this bed and fight off the psychics, fight and kill YED. It was only time now before they found him and tie up the loose end. He just hoped his strength would return when that time came. Perhaps they would have a chance?

Maddie picked up the rifle and looked out the frosty window, wiping her eyes. Sam could've sworn he heard the faint sound of sniffles.

"Maddie, what's wrong?" Sam uttered. She slightly jumped, whirling around. "Did my brother yell at you again?"

"Oh! No, no." She hastened in drying her tears. "I just learned of a friend's passing. It was very sudden."

"I'm sorry," replied Sam weakly. "I just found out I lost my uncle too. The pain's almost unbearable…"

"Yeah, I know. My dad passed away several years ago, and uh, it still hurts."

"It's best not to dwell on it, I think. Move on, prove to them that we are still capable of being happy." Yeah, that surprised him too. That certainly wasn't what he was feeling.

She raised an eyebrow. "And how's that working for ya?"

"Not so much."

They both laughed. "Thanks Sam."

"No thank you. Without you, Dean would probably still be learning how to drive stick on that Semi."

She laughed some more. "Oops, I drive a stick. Guess I forgot to tell him that. He just left."

"What do you mean he just left? Where did—" His head bucked back into the pillow as yet another headache exploded. Maddie's concerned voice drowned in his ears and his vision was suddenly stolen as another vision wormed its way inside.

_The whole psychic horde encircled the YED. He was giving them an order, but Sam could barely understand him. The psychics all smiled and with the wave of his hand, disappeared into a cloud of smoke. _

The vision switched.

_He could see Alex flying within the nighttime sky, a most malicious grin plastering his chiseled face. The psychic touched down onto a lawn-pad outside a two-story white house. He kicked in the glass door, emerging through the glass. Two women jumped from their love-seats, alarmed. "Alex!" a plump short-haired brunette woman on the right cried. She exchanged a confused look with the other woman. The other beamed patting down her long blonde hair. "Oh my God, you're home," she cried some more. _

"_Hi mom," said Alex with a sly edge. Sam screamed from the sidelines for the women to run, hide, protect themselves. But the women rushed for the boy. Alex grabbed a hold of his mother's grizzly neck and twisted it, the woman falling to the floor, blood leaking into her eyes. The other woman screamed and ran for the shattered door. In a blink, Alex blocked her escape, wrapping his arms around her midriff. _

"_Shhh, there, there Aunt Dolly, I'm not going to hurt you," he said this darkly. The woman shook, squirming from his hold. _

"_Get off!" she cried. "Get off me you monster!"_

"_Well you're right about one thing," he replied, laying a hand on her head. He gave a little sadistic smirk, released some juice, and the woman's brains exploded from the back of her head. She fell to the floor with a sickening thud. _

_Alex turned around, leapt from the porch, and flew through the night sky. He looked and looked from the sky, swiveling his head, like a hawk. Sniffing, he flew faster having caught a particular scent. Suddenly he was flying low through a patch of trees until finally he landed right outside a cabin. _

Sam woke up with a small cry.

"Sam! Are you okay?" Maddie called, hovering over him.

Panting, he grabbed her arm and lowered her face to his. "Maddie, go! Hide now. Anywhere!"

"What? Why?" She was suddenly frightened.

"He's here!"

"Who?"

_**CRASH!**_ The front door flew off its hinges.

Quickly, Maddie pulled Sam off the bed and stuffed him into a corner in between the bed and dresser. She locked the door, grabbed her rifle, and checked to see if it was loaded.

"Maddie, I said run. Listen to me, runnnn!"

It was too late. Alex put a foot through the bedroom door and came in with a wide, evil grin. "Here's Johnny!"

* * *

**Yup, I'm bad. Time for some action and carnage, ya'll! I'll have it up soon.**


	15. Thirteen: Double Trouble

**Chapter Thirteen: Double Trouble**

**Listen to the song: Lords of the Realm by Immediate Music.**

* * *

It was the look of a mad man, cold, unreasonable. All intent and purpose was to kill. Sam didn't need to be a mind-reader. The look on Alex's face told him everything. The psychic stared at the girl five feet in front of him like a child ready to stomp on an ant.

Maddie held her weapon firm, unyielding to fear. Her face was filled with discontent, as though she knew Alex. No matter if she did, Sam knew this was going to end badly. He used the nightstand as a support as he struggled to stand up.

"Maddie, get out of the way!"

Maddie ignored him, remaining focused with her rifle trained. "Just typical," she spat angrily, "making a grand entrance. You always were such a brat Alex."

The guy nodded in agreement. "My mom certainly thought so."

"Yea, I bet you were just worried. You have any idea what you put that woman through? Where the hell have you been anyway?"

"Maddie!" Sam called. "GO! It's not him anymore!"

The girl suddenly seemed confused, but she never took her eyes off the psychic. Alex looked over her shoulder. "Oh hi Sam. Glad you could join our family reunion. You've met my cousin. She's a spitfire, isn't she?"

Sam gasped, now understanding why he was here. In the vision he had just seen, Alex went to his mother's house and killed her and his aunt. If Maddie is his cousin, then he is here to kill _her_, not him. It wouldn't surprise him if the first order of business YED had bestowed was to destroy every last family member, Roman execution style; erase any and all emotional attachments that might deter them from the mission.

"Maddie, back away now! He's here to kill you."

There was a sharp intake of air. Maddie stole a quick glance in his direction, backing a step, but keeping the rifle trained. "You're bullshitting Sam. I know he's an asshole, but come on!"

"Maddie, listen to me—"

"You should listen to him Maddie, he's a sharp tack," interrupted Alex. "Or actually you can hold still, make it easier for me."

"Go to Hell Alex."

The psychic then produced a loud cackle and suddenly the entire cabin began to shake. The shutters rattled, the furniture bounced and swayed. Alex spread out his arms, grinning wildly. "Accept it Maddie. Your number's up. Don't worry Sam. I'll get to you in a minute. Boss wants to see you."

Sam was now to his feet, trying to maintain his balance through all the raucous. "Over my dead body."

"Well, that can be arranged."

"That's enough!" yelled Maddie. "Get the hell out of here Alex or I will shoot." To prove her point, she shot the mirror located just over his shoulder. The quake in the cabin ceased and Alex gave her a peculiar glare.

"I so hope you've got good aim."

"Come any closer and I'll show you."

"If you insist," he said, and before anyone could react, he sent her careening into the back wall telekinetically. She emitted a soft grunt landing on the carpet. Sam went for the demon-killing knife left on the nightstand. He looked up and Alex was at eye-level. The guy punched him in the gut, sending a blinding flash of pain over his eyes, and then pushed his head through the window, tossing him to the other side of the room.

With Sam down, Alex sauntered over to the crumpled heap of his cousin. She had sat up, switched off the safety, and pumped the barrel. She pointed the gun up and he deflected the projectile by grabbing the barrel chute and forcing it away from his face. The bullet penetrated the ceiling, sprinkling bits of splintered wood. She attempted to pull the gun out of his grasp, but he yanked it away, tossing it into the mirror over top of the dresser. In less than a microsecond, he pulled her up by the hair and pinned her to the wall.

Alex laughed. "This is soooo easy," he beamed like a child. She kicked him in the gut. It did nothing. He took an elbow across her jaw, eliciting a pained cry. "See. Don't fight. It just pisses me off. And don't cry either, that pisses me off even more."

Maddie spat in his face.

He wiped it away and scoffed, "So ladylike. But then, you always were half a man. Hmm, I wonder what your brains will look like. Your mom's brains weren't all that pretty."

She froze in his grasp, eyes widening.

He smiled devilishly. "Oh man, totally slipped my mind. Your mom's brains are splattered all over my mom's foyer. Adds a little color, actually."

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie? The look on your face makes this moment totally worth it. This is better than a Die Hard movie."

She struggled.

"No, no, don't do that. I'll be nice to you since you're family and make it quick," he placed a hand on top of her head. "Now just hold still…"

_**WHAM**_!

A baseball bat smashed overtop of his head, splitting on impact. His head bucked forward, releasing the girl and Alex turned to face Sam swinging the broken bat. It collided with the left side of his face, suddenly inert. Alex then grabbed Sam by the throat and lifted him up, which wasn't hard for the guy as they both were of the same height. He peered deeply into Sam's eyes and said, "You know it's too bad the boss says you're hands off. Because that right there, it ain't cool bro." He tossed him into the corner. Sam hit with such intensity, he swore his whole body was on vibrate. It left him momentarily paralyzed.

Alex stepped towards him when a knife pierced his side. He let off a howl and the knife was extracted. Whirling around, Alex came upon the defensive stance of his cousin. Her eyes were bloodshot, bold, and daring. She held a long Swiss army knife perpendicular to her wrist, ready to strike like a viper. "Come on," she egged.

Skulking like a fox, the beleaguered man moved swiftly to the right, switching to the left, attempting to faze her. She moved stealthily with each movement, always keeping her eye with him. He shunted forward, she slashed at his face. Several times, he tried this maneuver, each time evading the quick slices of the knife. He laughed, playfully, sidestepping around her, mocking her movements.

"Ay carumba," mocked Alex, "thou love to tango?" He made to grab her wrist. She twirled behind him and cut through his back. He stumbled, in shock at such a move. Miffed, Alex rushed at her and she buried the hilt into his shoulder, yanking it out, and sliding the tip of the blade across his cheek. He backed off, laughing.

"You've got a set of brass balls honey."

Suddenly he disappeared. She looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen…until he appeared directly behind her. He brought down his arm in a chopping motion, causing her to drop the knife, and then sent her careening into the dresser. "But…I'm still gonna win."

She fell onto the pad of glass, cringing at the fiery wrath now enveloping her hands and arms. Through the reflection of the pieces, she saw Sam partly in and out of consciousness. A giant streak of red saturated his chest. She gritted her teeth, not seeing a way out of this…until she saw the long barrel of her beloved rifle. Taking up the weapon, she pumped the barrel and released a round into Alex's chest. He stumbled back, startled. Rising up off the ground, she pumped round...after round…after round…after round into his chest. Pumping one last time, she unloaded it into his head. He fell back, seemingly motionless.

Dropping the gun to the ground, the end of the barrel hot in her hand, she took a breather. "Jesus Christ Alex, what the hell happened to you?" She turned around, resting her hands on the dresser, panting, her eyes closed.

Regaining her composure, she looked up into the fragmented pieces of the mirror and saw the bloody form of her cousin staring back at her.

~o()o~

The drive to the nearest town took longer than Dean expected. He moved fast, searching for the nearest pharmacy store. He knew Sam's regimen like the back of his hand and so it wouldn't take long to hopefully find the necessary supplies. God forbid, he had to make the appropriate pills himself as sometimes pharmacists had to do just that. If need be, he'd kidnap a pharmacist or two. To ease his conscience, he told himself where his only living family's life is in the balance, you do what you have to do. But hopefully it wouldn't have to come down to that.

He found a small pharmacy located on the outskirts of town. The place appeared barren, dark, seemingly abandoned, except for a few places like the grocery mart and a convenience store that were still open for business. Like he surmised, the pharmacy was closed and under lock down. A steel apparatus hung over the doors, bolted to the ground.

A small hitch, but nothing he couldn't handle.

Breaking and entering was a skill set he had mastered since the age of seven (don't try that at home kids.)

Entering the store, he located the back shelves full of hundreds of little bottles. Instantly he searched out the juicy cocktail of steroid therapy. Sam needed several things –not just an immunosuppressant— but a wide variety of drugs that targeted metabolism, his body's defensive system, and others to protect him from other pernicious bugs waiting to fester and destroy every living cell he has left. Especially since he hasn't had a single pill since the last Monday, who knew how his body was keeping it together. He hated his conscience for thinking it, but he was deeply amazed Sam was still alive after all that.

Flashlight in hand he scanned the shelves. He found a number of glucocorticoids and piled them in the plastic bag he grabbed from behind the counter.

"A…A…A…" he looked overhead for the letter, "Ah ha, Azathioprine, gotcha baby!" He placed the bottle into the bag, and then went in search for the aisle M. "There you are my MMF." Though he could never pronounce "Mycophenolate mofetil", the abbreviation MMF he liked.

The plastic bag was beginning to feel heavy. He was most glad he was able to find what he needed. For sure, he felt he had to kidnap someone and have them play with their chemistry sets. He worked relentlessly in searching for the appropriate medication…and then he was struck with an awful, paling pang in his gut. Like a stomachache, only worse. He paused, having felt this feeling before.

The last time his gut sang like this, his father died.

He nearly dropped the plastic bag on his way out the back. He had to get back to the cabin and fast.

~o()o~

Maddie released a small scream, but it was too late. Alex pushed her head into the fragmented mirror, instantly breaking her nose, and then threw her backwards into the wall. She landed on the bed, bouncing off it. Blood exuded freely, leaking in a puddle over her mouth and shirt, over the floor. Alex laughed, relishing the sight. Her arms quivered with a fury in trying to push herself off the floor. It became futile, however, as Alex came over and stepped on her head. He applied pressure, not enough to crush her brains in, but enough to slowly crack her skull. She screamed, struggling, crying, her face developing a shade of crimson.

"ALEX! STOP! STOP!"

He applied more pressure, her screams intensifying. He then picked her up by her hair again, brought her face to eye-level.

"Wah, poor baby. Sorry sweetcakes, it's the end of the road." He reeled back a fist, killer blow written all over it. Maddie closed her eyes, her sobbing silencing.

There was the sound of a gunshot and Alex's head rammed forward. He dropped the girl into a puddle on the ground, and turned around to face Sam, now steady on his feet, holding Maddie's smoking gun in one hand, his demon-knife in the other. Maddie instantly lost consciousness.

Sam panted. "Get the fuck away from her."

"Or what? You finally going to use those powers on me? I've been waiting." Alex tempted. "I know you have em', just like me, just like everyone else he kept alive. Now come on, let's see what cha got?"

"No way, I'm not falling for that. That's a one way ticket straight to Hell I'm not taking."

Alex rolled his eyes. "It ain't all that bad man. In fact, it's a dream. There's not a single thing you can't do."

"Yeah, I bet it's just Candyland. But you forget the price that comes with it."

"A small price," he shrugged. "It's like the military. Four years of expected service with added benefits, and then you're on your merry way. Granted ya got to kill a few lives here and there, but hey, if you look at it optimistically, that's a few less mouths to feed."

"Wow, you are such an asshole."

Alex pinched his lips, not at all pleased with the retort. "Well that was my little sales pitch."

"Word of advice: come up with new material."

"Fine. We done here? Cuz I need to hit the road soon. There are a few necks I'd like to break."

"Oh we're done," and Sam buried another round into his chest. But the guy bounced back as though he were bulletproof.

Sam readied himself for a fight. He dropped the gun and held onto the knife. He knew he wasn't in much condition to start flinging fists. Alex was a pure sociopath, addicted to his newfound abilities –like he had predicted. Perhaps he wouldn't kill him? He doesn't want to end up like Terry, but the moment he finished with him, the moment he would be back to finish Maddie off. And that was something he was NOT having on his conscience.

Sam swung the dagger, and Alex caught it in quick precision. He yanked it out of Sam's grip and laid a heavy punch into Sam's face. Sam retaliated by returning a punch to Alex's gut. He shot it back, his hand on fire, partially numb. It was like punching a titanium tank. But he didn't lose hope. He swung fist after fist, twisting his body out of the way of Alex's death-intending fists. Sam brought up a knee into his gut, finally receiving a pained gasp. He suddenly felt renewed vigor. This guy had to be stopped. All the psychics had to be stopped.

Alex raised both his palms and an invisible force knocked Sam to the ground. He rose to his feet quickly as Alex swung an arm like a tennis player, the same invisible force lifting him up, his back smashing into the ceiling, where he landed with a crack on the floor. Alex strutted over, grasped a handful of hair, and pulled him up to his knees. Instantly he punched his gut, the guy stumbling backwards. It was weird. Since when was Sam able to have such an impact. Not a minute ago, the guy was virtually indestructible.

Suddenly a searing pain lanced through his head. He dreaded it. It couldn't be another vision…not now of all times!

It wasn't.

Alex stood menacingly in front of him. Sam gritted his teeth through the pain, stood up, and felt an incredible wave leave his body. The wave shot outwards, connecting with Alex. It sent him flying through the length of the entire house, forcing him to crash through the wall and to the outside.

The strange energy that swarmed his body had left and his legs had the supporting strength equivalent to jello. He was left in astonishment. Something like that came from him, unwillingly, when in need. That had to be the power Alex spoke of. Andy was right. It was captivating.

His victory was short-lived.

Alex ran back in a flash, knocking Sam to the ground. He leapt up and landed strategically on top of his left leg, instantly shattering the bone.

~o()o~

The night hung like a black veil, dark and thick, hard to see through. Dean's only guideline was the fluorescent yellow lines marking the middle of the windy road. The Sedan's pedal was molded to the floorboard. "Come on, come on, come on," he muttered anxiously in a litany, eying the speedometer. The vehicle's top speed was eighty. It just wasn't enough.

Since the pharmacy, that dreadful feeling amplified. Perhaps it was a build-up of stress over the past week and the lack of sleep? Perhaps he just had a hair up his ass and was worrying himself silly? Perhaps it was nothing at all? But Dean instinctually knew it wasn't. The feeling was like a rat had found its mark in his gut and began to claw its way out. Painful, crippling in anxiety; unable to ebb away. His foot ached as it pinned down the pedal, and he kept looking at the speedometer. Had time slowed down? Why can't this box on wheels move any faster? Fred Flintstone in his square-wheeled cart could move faster than this!

"Dammit," he smacked the steering wheel. "Come on!"

~o()o~

A long, ear-splitting cry of pain erupted from Sam's throat. Alex stepped away from his handiwork, laughing, while Sam grasped his lower left leg. He had never felt this much agony before. He nearly lost consciousness again.

"Oops, sorry there Sam. I guess I got a little carried away. Nothing but a good bandaid will take care of it," taunted Alex.

Sam silenced his anguish, desperately trying to move. He fell into a prone position. Using his leg was futile. The bone was completely separated from his kneecap, and so he began to crawl. He still felt weak from that earlier energy push, and now with this type of pain, he felt incapacitated. He clawed steadily at the wooden floor towards the fallen demon knife located not two feet from him. Alex came over and stepped casually on his broken leg. That vocal cord-ripping agony was back. The cabin's walls rang with his cries.

"Ha, pinned ya!"

Not willing to give up, Sam extended out his arm, opening his palm. To settle his conscience he refused to use his demon-given talent, but this was now a life or death situation. Who the hell knew where Dean went? And by the look of things, his brother wasn't going to arrive in time. His only option was to give in temporarily, use whatever power to procure the dagger. Only the more he concentrated, the bigger his disappointment became. Nothing happened. Like a blockage.

"Not used to them yet, are we Sam?" said Alex. "You have to let everything go, accept them all, not one. Only then you will be amazed at all the awesome mind tricks your digits can do."

Sam concentrated further, his face developing a shade of puce.

Alex laughed some more. "See? Told ya!" He lifted the back of his white tee and brought Sam to his knees. "It goes a little something like this…" He placed a sweaty large hand on the side of his head. Sam felt a wave of energy envelope his brain, enshrouding it in a tight hold, squeezing it. His face burned with the pressure.

"Don't fight it Sam."

His hands scraped and clawed at Alex's arms as he tried to fight. But the pain was incomprehensible, he knew not of what he was doing. His eyes began to roll into the back of his head. The pressure was so tense. His head was ready to explode.

He heard a pop. But there was no anticipated leakage, no gross splatter of brain matter. The pressure dissipated. And he could breathe again, his hearing returning to him. He fell to his side and there he watched everything.

That _popping_ he thought was the outward expulsion of brain matter turned out to be a shotgun blast. The gun sounded off again, this time nearly bursting his eardrum. The blast went straight through the psychic's right side, blood spurting off in a fountain stream. Alex's stiff moans of disbelief reverberated wall to wall, cut off as he was hit again and again with round after round.

Alex was struck once more in the chest and his body flew backwards, landing on the bed. Sam could see a hand fall off the side, bloody, dead. The psychic was finally killed.

_Thank God for Dean_. Sam thought. Only his brother would arrive last second to save the day.

He was nearing the boundaries of unconsciousness. He looked up and saw a person strolling forward, their identity obscured by a heavy shadow. When they emerged in the light, Sam gasped. It wasn't Dean. It certainly wasn't Maddie, as the poor girl was still out for the count beneath the bedroom window. He stared, transfixed. It couldn't be. This had to be a dream of some type, because this person he knew to be dead.

And then without meaning to, his body giving into exhaustion and pain, his sight faded to black and he knew no more.

~o()o~

The cabin was less than thirty yards away. Dean's heart hammered painfully behind his ribcage. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. The Sedan skidded up the dirt driveway and instantly he saw a large black truck.

"Shit!" he breathed, and then exited the car, failing to put it in gear. Stuffing the bag of Sam's medication into his jacket pocket, he pulled the 9mm from his waistband and sprinted inside. Already he saw there was a raucous as several pieces of furniture were overturned, the kitchen a mess with shattered plates and flatware scattered amongst the floor. There were even cracks inside the log walls.

"SAM! MADDIE!"

He didn't care if the enemy was still about. He didn't care if he heralded all of Satan's children to his location. He had to get to the bedroom. Weapon ready to fire, he sprinted through the hallway, skidding through the open bedroom door, releasing an intended intimidating war-cry….

He halted. His heart seized from overload. And his eyes grew to the size of saucer plates, in shock, in disbelief, in ecstatic relief at the person who stood resolute in front of him.

His jaw dropped, the 9mm nearly slipping from his grasp. He choked. _"Dad?"_

The man turned and it was revealed to be true. He was just the same as he last saw him: bulky, grey, and grizzly. He held a twelve-gauge in his hand, another hanging from a holster across his back. He smiled and said most fatherly, "Hey Dean."

Dean was stunned, speechless. He saw Sam lying broken and bloody on the floor to the left, a dead guy on the bed, and Maddie, also broken and bloody near the edge of the bed to the right. He couldn't decide which to attend to first. His mind was completely and utterly useless as he stared bewildered at his father, long since dead for over a year. Caroline had mentioned he was alive. But deep down, he couldn't believe it was true. Every emotion he held pent up from the years from the man's tough commander attitude to the long absences came out harshly.

He huffed. "Just typical. There you are! We've literally gone through HELL and now you show up! Where the hell have you been you son of a bitch?"

"HEY!" Someone shouted from behind him. A voice he only vaguely recognized.

He whirled around in response and was instantly punched off his feet. His eyes crossed. His mind dizzy. It felt like a ram just butted his head. He landed squarely on his rear, shaking his head. The assaulter stepped up towering over him.

"Don't you talk to your father like that!"

He looked up and his heart jumped up his throat…for he was staring into the beautifully mean face of his mother.


	16. Fourteen: Some Reunion!

**Disclaimer: In this chapter, I feel it necessary to reiterate that I'm deviating away from canon of the show. You'll see this mostly in the character's dialogue and mannerisms, especially Dean's character. I feel it imperative to tell you so I won't receive flak about it. I'm trying to come up with a different plot than the show. Again, I don't own any of the characters or storylines: just my own insidious plots. That said, I hope you enjoy! **

**Chapter Fourteen: Some Reunion!**

* * *

Dean's jaw was sore and his brain felt bruised. His heart may or may not have restarted.

How could this be? He endured bone-cracking fights throughout high-school, survived electrocution, and was shot more times than he cared to remember, but no injury, insult to injury, or otherwise could surpass the nauseating ripple of shock elicited by this new development. Sure, he shouldn't be this surprised, given that angels resurrected his miserable ass. He already knew about his dad being brought back to life. But his Mom? Jaw slack, he just stared, rubbing his mandible. The woman's fist felt like a fifty pound mallet.

Mary moved gracefully from the hallway into the room, ignoring the person she, not a second ago, gave the old "one, two." "The place isn't secure John. We need to hurry." She crossed over to Sam who lay unconscious with a pool of blood under his chin. "Sammy? Can you hear me?"

The state of his brother was horrifying. Dean was to his feet and leaping across the cluttered space in less than two microseconds. He patted Mary's hand away and rolled his brother over with ease. Mary made no objection as she, as well, assessed her son's damage. A hodgepodge of newly forming bruises and cuts splotched Sam's cheeks and forehead. His leg was definitely broken.

"Sammy? Can you hear me?" Dean called to him, patting his face. "Sammy, come on dude. Give me something."

No response.

"Damn," said Mary checking her watch. "Four minutes. John, he's out cold, and it's gonna take a feathery miracle to get them out of here like this."

Her voice didn't sound at all like Dean remembered at four years of age. Then, it was filled with kindness without a hint of malice; full of love when she sang "Hey Jude" (her favorite Beatles song). He trilled it over and over in his dreams, desperately clinging to that sweet tune. The memory shattered. Mary's voice was cold, void of all kindness, like a hunter. It actually unnerved him.

"John, he's hurt bad." She reiterated.

John didn't reply. He was busy studying the dead man lying on the bed, checking his jacket and pockets -obviously for some form of identification. "Dean! Check Maddie!" He barked gruffly.

"Huh? You know Maddie?"

"Now!"

The order electrified him. He was on his feet, completely forgetting the chaos of the situation. He looked around. The whole room was in shambles, like two massive polar bears were locked in and had to fight to the death. Maddie was over by the bed beneath the window face down. He rolled her over and stifled a cry. She was a bloody mess. He grabbed a washcloth from off the nightstand and began sponging off the blood, which did nothing to staunch the stubborn flow.

"What the hell happened here?" He managed to find his voice.

John peeked over his shoulder. "I was meaning to ask you that. But I suppose if you were here, you'd know."

Yep, that was his dad all right. Dean made to answer back, his feelings of rebellion once again rising. It was Mary who intervened.

"John, enough. He can't help it if he's gone soft like butter."

"Butter? Why not make it margarine?" He stood up. "I haven't gone soft. The place was secure when I left."

"Oh really?" Mary rose to her full height as well. He forgot she was a tall woman. She began enumerating off her fingers. "The salt line beneath the window by the fridge was gone. The devil's trap overtop of the door had a large crack in it. That Shoestring Bobby left over the bathroom door needs to be replaced. And there's not a single bucket of holy water in this place…"

"Okay, you've made your point!"

"You've gone soft." She made a small smile. "Don't sweat it sweetie. A little time off does that to a person. That's why hunters don't get vacay pay."

Dean peered at her tearfully, understanding now why she was here, why she was dressed like Dad, to the nines with weapons. She was a hunter. "You've been a hunter long?"

She was stoic, not a single hint of disappointment or sadness in her bright green eyes. He wondered if this was the same woman who gave birth to him when she answered, "All my life."

Suddenly it hit Dean that maybe this was the key to everything. Why the demon visited Sam's crib? Why both he and Sam have a "destiny"? Why his family was jacked to be ruined in the first place? He always believed that Mary's death was the catalyst to this life-long crusade against evil. But instead he was wrong. His family had never been introduced to the Supernatural: they were always a part of that world. Mary's death wasn't the initiation; it was just a mere casualty. Caroline was right. He had a destiny. And it wasn't going to be the apple-pie life he craved. No, this was it; this life, this legacy, was forever his and Sam's to carry on.

"Dean, I know you have many questions"- there was that cold voice again- "but we'll discuss this later. Right now, we need to get these two out of here. If we can manage it." She looked down. "Whoa! Well smack my ass and call me Judy, it's my knife!" She picked up Sam's engraved dagger with the serrated edge. "I haven't seen this since I was thirteen!"

"That's Sam's knife. He had it on him when—"

"You found him in Cold Oak," she interrupted.

"Yeah…hey, wait a minute. How did you…" His question went unanswered as Mary went to her husband. "Told you that's where he would hole them up."

"Yes dear, I never doubted you. But as I recall Cold Oak was still elusive, even to your robotic memory."

"I was thirteen John. Do you know how many hunts my dad took me on all over this festering country? He was insane. There isn't a number you can comprehend to describe how many. I can't remember where all those places were."

"Yes, yes, yes…the great Samuel Campbell, oh how can I forget? I think I still have buckshot fragments in my ass after he met me at the door with the 12-gauge."

"I tried to warn you that he was overprotective."

"But was the interrogation while I was strapped to a gurney under a devil's trap with my hand trapped in a bucket of holy water fully necessary?"

She shrugged. "Like I said, he was overprotective. But he came around after the twelfth test. At least you didn't wet your pants. Three of my other dates did."

_What_ _was_ _this_? Dean thought. Foreplay? _Ugh_, he shuddered. They bickered like an old married couple…_wait_….he had to keep reminding himself they were. Albeit, it was nice to hear them act as a regular couple: a sense of normalcy he didn't expect to find in a time like this. And it was the first time a grandparent was mentioned.

John emitted a small snort. "I'm just lucky I survived. How much time?"

"Two minutes. Is he dead?"

"Very. Those rounds Bobby kept in his storage actually did the trick. Got through the armor of magic and everything."

"Good," Mary agreed. "These bastards won't be easy to kill. We got lucky with this one."

"Uh, excuse me!" Dean called from the floor. "Remember me, your offspring? Mind explaining to me what the hell is going on? How did you find us? What the hell happened to Sam and Maddie? And who the hell is that?"

"He's part of the psychic horde your brother is part of," said John. "I'll bet my last dollar –if I can find it, that is— that this is Maddie's cousin. He came here to finish off his family. That was the first order. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if her mother and aunt are already dead."

"First order?"

"The demon's order. Come on son, get it together. I'm surprised you haven't pieced this all together yet."

"Well, no one has been eager to fill me in…"

"That's why it's up to you to go out and find out for yourself," John berated. "The clues are everywhere. What it's been up to and where he's heading next."

"One minute," Mary called out from her watch.

Dean was at a loss for words. He looked to his mother to back him up, but she stood defiantly against him behind her husband. Her eyes darted back and forth, keeping an eye on all exits.

John continued his rant. "I'm disappointed in you Dean. What's happened to you? You see me alive. You see her. And you don't even go for the holy water or your gun? What if we were shapeshifters? What if we were possessed? That kind of mistake would get you, your brother, and this girl killed."

Okay, now he was mad! He puffed out his chest like an alpha dominance display. "You know that's a two-way street. How long have you been topside? Hmmm. No phonecall. No message from a creeper. Nothing. I was all on my own, getting my ass kicked, trying to find Sam. Something, obviously, you couldn't do—"

"Dean!"

"Oh and by the way! You're not shifters because you're both wearing silver necklaces and rings. You're not demons because of the pentagram tattoo just below your wrists. And you're definitely not anything else because that _anything else _would try and draw from my memories of you and coddle me to get close, instead of knocking me on my ass before I turn around, and they won't even bother to look at Sam and Maddie. And Dad? The minute you started barking orders I knew it was you. Besides, by the look of things, it wouldn't have mattered if I was here or not. This guy kicked a hole through the wall, took a baseball bat, took several bullets and then some, and still kept coming. We're not packing enough heat to take down a mother like that."

"Another rookie mistake. Why'd you leave this cabin in the first place?"

_Puh! Some family reunion_, he thought. He made to answer when the cabin began to quake, the lights flickering, settling the room in pitch black to a light eerie glow. Outside were the shrill sounds of wolves howling. The bed and furniture bounced diagonally around.

"Enough bickering. Grab your brother Dean. John, you get the girl! I'll get the truck!" Mary ordered.

"NO Mary. Those are hounds."

"You have a better plan then? The only other choice is to outrun them. Good luck with that. If we didn't have this little family meeting, then we wouldn't have missed our window. No time to argue sweetheart. I'm getting the truck." He loaded her shotgun and cocked it to prove a point.

She hadn't move an inch…when suddenly Marco popped into existence. Dirty, with a bleeding lip, but an insensible good-humored expression, he said, "Forget the truck folks. Hostiles are moving in. We've got about three seconds to giddy-up, so grab onto one another." At their slow-moving pace, he emphasized while smiling like the Cheshire cat, "Chop-chop, cuz unless you want to be turned into Pedigree, now's a good time as any."

John quickly scooped up Maddie while Dean raced over to Sam. Mary immediately took up the large weapon bag left by the bedroom door. She ran over and clung onto John's shoulder as Dean took up Sam's hand and Marco's pantleg. Three seconds later, the walls to the cabin imploded, crumbling down from a fierce wind. Loud, ferocious barks heralded the dog's return as furniture pieces snapped in half and splintered to dust. The demon blew the hell-mutts a kiss and they were off in a spiraling whirlwind. Seconds later, they all reappeared onto an empty black road, completely surrounded by woods, seemingly in isolation.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cried out as his rear plopped down onto the asphalt. Sam fell beside him, igniting a treacherous groan. He shook his shoulder. "Sammy? Sammy?"

Sam didn't wake, increasing his worry. The bag of meds still resided in his jacket pocket. He needed to mash some up and shove it down Sam's throat pronto. He reached for the bag.

"Where are we Marco?" John's voice broke his thoughts.

Dean paused, peering incredulously at his father. "Hold the freaking phone! You know Marco? How?" He looked to the demon which was seen pulling charred pieces from his leather jacket, along with hairy chucks. Surprisingly, he ignored him.

"About fifty miles from the Missouri borderline," he answered John, "oh and B. T. Dubs that hellhound herb was useless. The hounds caught your scent anyway. Luckily for you I was on pooch patrol. Had to lop a couple of heads off, and got my jacket torn in the process. You're welcome by the way."

"We're grateful. Especially as there was a delay." John glanced down at Dean who returned his scolding gaze with an unapproved glare of his own. The man ignored the look, adjusting the unconscious girl resting in his arms.

"Oh yeah, yeah. Family catch up, that's nice," replied Marco indifferently. "Okie dokie, I come with ever-diabolical tidings with a message from my Lady. I'm supposed to show you something she happened to scribble down, so you would know where to go and she is to meet you there. No questions asked, and obviously no answers given, cuz she didn't tell me jack-shit. She is totes aboard the PMS boat, so ready for launch."

"Understood."

"Cool Beans." The demon replied a little too enthusiastically. He then raised his palm towards John. Scrawled on it in bold was a rune. An ancient rune that looked like two backward crescent moons linked together by a large Y. "Get it?"

John nodded. "Got it."

"Good. Your black stallion waits," he bowed pivoting on his heels to reveal the Impala waiting in the dark on the side of the road about fifty yards away. Dean gasped.

"You jackass! You drove my car!"

"Oh non, non, non, mon petite cherie. I zapped it here. Bounced in the air several of feet, and may have skidded onto its side a little bit, but…."

Dean stood up, his nostrils flaring. He was beginning to see red again.

"...but the front axle's still in good condition. It might wobble a bit off to the right, but no biggie."

John and Mary headed off to the Impala as Dean punched Marco off his feet again.

"Dean! We need to hurry now. Have Marco help you with your brother and let's go!" He opened the back door and carefully slid the girl onto the back seat. "Mary, you're going to have to sit in the back and hold her up."

"Already a step ahead of you honey," his wife responded after placing the bag of arsenal into the floor board.

John hopped into the front seat and turned the engine. "Dean, pull your punching bag up and get in the car."

Growling, Dean pulled Marco to his feet. Once more, the demon fidgeted with his jacket, stroking it to find any dirt stains or ingrained road sand. "Come on. Heal him real quick."

"Nah, sorry dude. Kinda jet-lagging from our flight. Ain't got the juice."

"Do you ever?"

"Yeah, sometimes," piped Marco.

Shaking his head in irritation, Dean barked, "Fine. You grab Sam's legs, and be careful with the broken one."

"Aye, aye captain," replied the demon disdainfully. Acting upon Dean's instruction, he grabbed the boy underneath his knees to avoid messing up the leg. On Dean's cue, they hoisted Sam up and began the hideous haul to the parked car. Several times Marco had to stop to pant for air, Dean's temper rising each time. Sweat beaded off Dean's head, and he inwardly cursed. He hated to admit it, be it concerning his sick, injured brother, but it was a struggle.

Marco yowled. "Ooph! When Sam wakes up, be sure to tell him to lay off the Ding-Dongs."

"Shut your mouth. My brother doesn't eat enough." Dean spat.

"That's a fun fact. And you think this so-called "hauling" supports that hypothesis?"

"Yea, yea, yea. Quit your bellyaching. You're a demon! It should be like picking up a baby to you."

"Au contraire, I told you I used up a lot of my mojo in getting ya'll here…meaning I'm pooped. So my opinion right now goes, the kid needs to go on a diet…at least, until we get him to the car!"

"You know Marco? Opinions are a lot like assholes. Everybody's got one and they stink of shit!"

"Which kind? Animal shit or infant shit? There's a huge and stinky difference, my friend."

"My God, shut up and move faster."

The plea wouldn't stop the demon, not even if he was hit by a speeding train. "Hey can you get fat off popsicles?"

Dean was at his exasperation point. "What?"

"Well, you know, how many can I eat before it becomes a problem?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're a problem?"

"At least multiple times a day, yes. It hasn't sunken in yet."

"I wonder why."

At last, they made it to the Impala where John helped lug Sam into the backseat. The process produced more agonized moans from the kid as Dean had to drape the broken leg over Maddie and Mary's legs. Angry, Dean settled into the driver-side backseat, propping Sam into his lap. His beleaguered stare never left the demon and intensified all the more when Marco piled into the front seat.

Sarcastically, John announced, "Is the cargo ready to leave now?"

"Waiting on you pops," Dean mumbled.

"Onward mush….and CHARGE!" Marco pelted out the vocals, thrusting his fist forward over the dash.

John peered at him inquisitively, "Marco, we haven't moved yet."

Pouting, the demon slouched in the seat, rejected. "Just trying to diffuse the tension. It's gonna be a long trip."

John pulled out the Chevy and they were off into a journey with an unknown destination cruising at a speedometer-topping pace. For the most part, they rode in silence, aside from Marco occasionally intoning tunes of _Def_ _Leppard_. Patting down Sam's blood-encrusted hair, Dean sighed. An amalgam of feelings pilfered his subconscious and he couldn't decipher which emotional filibuster he felt more of. He was confused. He was so delirious with exhaustion. He wanted this nightmare to end. But there was no distinct pattern on how to end this terrible debacle. His brother was in a terrible condition, along with Maddie. He wasn't gone for long. What exactly happened? And if his parents hadn't shown up, what then? Everything he had fought for till this point would have all been in vain.

But then, how are his parents here? Did Caroline bring them back? She would have had to. He didn't know any other angel on their side. She couldn't have brought them back simultaneously. He remembered her specifically clarifying that she only had enough power for one resurrection. It lightened his spirits a small amount. It signified there were others on their side, but how many, and for how long before they caved into the weight of the war's despair? It was an odd and puzzling predicament. And now there was a drive more than anything to seek the answers. For Sam's sake, even now he couldn't trust his parents, or anyone. The trouble was there obviously are higher powers meddling in the preternatural war. They were merely pawns. John and Mary might actually be working for them. His father knows Marco somehow. And like John, he is keen in keeping mute on the subject and further subjecting him to the soldier-commander "do, don't ask" routine. He had been out of that structure for so long; he didn't think he could ever fall under the regime again. And again, the vortex of confusion and misunderstanding walloped inside. He just hoped that this new twist would be in his favor. In the course that it didn't, he began making plans for escape. The most important detail on his mind was keeping Sam away from the YED. It was the only card he had to play in foiling the dark plot. A plot that had yet to be fully revealed. He hadn't spoken to Sam much since finding him in the middle of the abandoned village. So there was much that Sam had to reveal as well. Maybe then, he'll have some real answers.

He looked around, and just as sudden as they began, his thoughts stopped. His brain honed in on another. Despite being unable to trust that if his parents were working for the wrong side, or if they were even real, he had to smile. Thinking back to his fifth birthday as he blew out the single candle perched vertical into the row of Twinkies, he made a wish. And that wish finally came true.

Because for the first time since 1983 and that horrible night with the fire, his entire family was together. A single tear slipped out of his socket, and he made no motion to wipe it away.

**TBC**


	17. Fifteen: Family Matters

**A/N: Hey guys! First I want to apologize to those who have been so patiently waiting for this next installment. RL is very busy for me at the moment, and so I'm desperately trying to find the time to continue with this fic. I've made this chapter extra long, with lots going on because there are several key elements that needs to be highlighted. Plus there's a couple of verses in here ya'll might recognize from Season 3. Hopefully it'll make up for the wait! So with that being said, I hope you enjoy!**

**Joby ;p**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Family Matters**

They had been cruising at a consistent pace for a good hour. In that time, there was not a stir, nor a sound, even from the pestilent demon riding in the passenger front seat. Dean squirmed under the weight of his brother, worrisome that Sam, like the rest of the car, had not stirred.

"Someone pass me a bottle of water." Dean had asked. He managed to procure the bag of stolen pills from his pocket, pouring its contents of blue and white capsules in Sam's lap. Mary tossed him a small canister from her inner jacket pocket. He caught it, also placing it in Sam's lap. Then he proceeded to mash the few important ones into powder with his fingertips, dispensing it into Sam's lax mouth, adding a few drops of water at a time.

Mary watched curiously from the side. Her seemingly cold nature was at the front again, silent and gauging. Finally she asked, "Dean, what's all that for? That's a lot of work to make sure Sam gets his vitamins."

Dean delivered to her an impatient glare. "I'm surprised upper management, whom I assume you're working for, hasn't filled you in yet."

"You know I hear that new _Dove_ body wash is a good soap. It'll wash that attitude right out," Mary quipped.

Dean was ready to retort when John interrupted the fiery comeback.

"Filled us in about what?" John barked, his piercing dark eyes staring back at him through the rearview mirror. He also noticed that Marco was no longer interested in their party, instead peering down into his lap, as though ashamed.

"About Sam being sick," he replied nonchalantly. _Now they were interested in his well-being?_

Mary looked to John who dismissed the claim. "Sam's not sick. You're just being paranoid. He's a little banged up right now, but he's not sick."

Dean was confused. He wasn't sure if the dismissal his dad made was him being arrogant like his usual self –who hardly seemed to have any regard to the health of he and his brother growing up- or if he didn't believe him. But all Dean needed was the curious look his mother gave him. "Wait a minute, you don't know?"

"Cut to the chase and fill us in, would ya? What do you mean Sam's sick? Like the flu? Because being trapped by demons can severely weaken your immune system." Mary replied.

Dean huffed. "You mean to tell me that some higher power dug you up from six-feet under, gave you orders, and didn't even bother to fill you in about your kids over the past year and a half, about what happened to us; about what we've been through since you died Dad?" He could feel the sour bitterness towards his parents begin to wane. Judging by their tense postures, their penetrative stares, eager for information, they seriously didn't know.

They both shrugged confirming his suspicion.

Dean slouched in his seat, slightly offended by this new shocker. Clearing his throat, he admitted, "Sam came down with Congenital Heart Failure…and he nearly died from it. A hospital had to give him a heart transplant."

Nothing could have prepared him for what followed next.

"WHAAAATTTTTTTT!"

Both of his parents released vocals congruent to an amp at a Led Zeppelin concert. He cringed. Even Marco covered his ears. The window panes vibrated, ready to shatter. John slammed on the brakes, shunting every passenger forward. All the pill contents in Sam's lap sprinkled to the floor. And what ensued were both John and Mary's hands reaching for Sam, pulling at him, smacking his cheek to wake up, both arguing and screaming at one another. It was the weirdest freak-out session Dean had ever experienced. In the squabble, he managed to pry his brother out of their grip and away from their clutches.

"Knock it off! Get away!"

"How could you not tell us about this Dean?"

"When did this happen?"

"How bad is it now that the demon got to him?"

What ensued after that was a barrage of questions. There was no way to discern who was asking him what. It was all jumbled together. However thankful that his parents were now interested in taking up the role of "his parents" once again, the chaos of this moment was just overwhelming. Suddenly he felt very claustrophobic and wanted out. But not with Sam draped over him like a cumbersome blanket.

"Dad, just drive."

"No!" the man responded fiercely. "I want to know about Sam's condition. Has it gotten any worse after you took him from Cold Oak?"

"I….I don't know."

"What do you mean 'you don't know'!" Mary was inches away, breathing harshly.

"Dad, just drive. Stopping in the middle of nowhere isn't gonna help us. We need to get these two to a safe place so we can patch them up."

John resumed his seat, but instead of focusing his attention on the wheel, it now rested solely on Marco. And he was furious. The demon refused to budge, still staring at his lap.

Mary panted. "He's right John. We need to get to the safe-house. We can take care of them there."

The demon cautiously turned towards John. "I strongly encourage you to listen to your wife."

"And why's that?"

"Because we've got incoming."

"Excuse me?"

Marco failed to elaborate. He said, "I mean a whole can of whoopass is coming in three…two…one…"

**FLASH!**

The night sky morphed into a kaleidoscope of vastly illuminating green and blue lights. Everyone in the Impala, except Marco, shielded their eyes. Once the lights dimmed, they saw to their horror a battalion of men and women fighting. A battle of the sexes to a clueless bystander. There were men wielding huge elongated sticks, striking them against the women's small daggers. The women stealthily evaded each intended-to-kill blow. Every strike there was a bright and furious glow.

"What the hell is this?" cried Dean.

"They're angels Dean," John answered. "There are those who are fighting for Lucifer against our side. They want the Demon to win."

"Any reason why we're treating this as a theatre screen? Let's get the hell out of here!"

His plea went unheard. A sinister-looking man suddenly appeared on top of the Impala's hood. His eyes were an omniscient lilac and he had a certain incandescence emanating from his short, spiky hair to his olive-skinned chiseled face, surrounding a bronze engraved chest-plate around his torso. He smiled darkly at the family. He raised his fist high above his head aiming to punch through the hood. John anticipated his movement and quickly placed the car in _reverse, _halting several feet away. The man somersaulted off backwards, landing cat-like on his feet.

He then raised his hand, a small light sprouting within his palm. Dean instantly recognized this move as he had only seen it from Caroline as she was about to blast something apart. "MOVE DAD. MOVVVEEE!"

"What? Why?"

"MOVE!"

A jet stream of supernatural firepower rocketed from the man's palm towards them. The windows shattered from its oncoming power. Marco quickly slapped his hands onto the dash and next the Impala jumped in the air ten feet. The stream of destructive energy missed them just barely. The Chevy flopped back down jostling everyone in its' seats.

"Marco!" Dean hissed.

"Shove it Winchester," the demon replied to Dean's astonishment. "Get ready for the next show folks. He's not done yet."

And he was right. The radioactive angel raised his palm again conjuring a much bigger ball of light. The Winchesters braced for the impact eyeing the demon in the front passenger seat with heavy concern.

The angel revealed a wicked grin swinging his arm around like a baseball pitcher. The energy wave was about to release when…

There was another blue sonic wave of light and Caroline suddenly appeared, along with an entire force of angelic beings, which flattened many of the pre-existing fighters. Caroline pounced on the sinister being, stifling the energy ball –to her opponent's surprise. With lightning speed, she sliced open her hand and painted a sigil on his back, pressing her hand into the middle. In yet another bright flash, he was gone.

Dean blinked and she was next to his door. She yanked it open and asked very abruptly, "The necklace?"

It must have been the insanity of what all transpired within the last five minutes. But he could formulate no answer in his mind or off of his tongue. He just stared dumbfounded.

The angel grew restless. "The trinket I gave you. Come on. Come on. Hand it over now."

It dawned on him what she was referring to. He reached into his top left jacket pocket and pulled out the beaded necklace she had given to him prior to finding Sam at Cold Oak. After the necklace's power took him and Sam from that God-awful place, it never worked again. Caroline seemed to have read his thoughts. She said nothing, however. He and Mary watched intently as she spun the chain around her index finger until the pendant stopped at the top. A minute light issued at the tip, its glow escalating till it was as bright as a flashlight's beam, and then equally diminishing.

"It needed charging," she answered his quizzical expression. "My friend neglected to inform me of this. Now go. Go. You don't have much time." She slammed the door, vanishing from sight.

"Dean, hand it to me!" his dad demanded.

Dean decided not to refute this order. Immediately he gave the necklace over to his father who pressed the bead in the middle. A millisecond later he was off again in the same bright stream of green light to a destination he knew not where.

* * *

He wanted to think it was the pain that woke him. Or perhaps it was some strange, suspicious sound far off in the distance. Or maybe there was an angry alarm clock he mistook for screaming. But Sam knew it was all a lie. He couldn't hide behind the phantom of denial. The vision replayed over and over in his head. It was the same with no change…

…except for the last time it played.

_Buildings were massive clumps of rubble adorning the dimly lit streets. _

He surmised this was the place where the final showdown would occur; where YEDs overall plan would transpire.

_The discarded street sign __**Clement**__ lay crinkled amongst the rubble. Perishing screams persisted throughout the scene. Everywhere he turned, there was chaos. He saw a werewolf chasing two teenage girls. Sidewinders climbed the bricked walls of the remaining buildings. He turned around again facing an intersection, the same intersection with the YED and the band of people._

There was something different.

_The same four people, beaten and gagged, sat on their knees huddled together in a circle. But now he could see there were others surrounding the small group and YED. He instantly recognized several of the faces. He saw Lana and Flash. There was Sloan and a few of the other psychics that joined in on his ass-kicking in Cold Oak earlier. He expected them to be smiling, relishing in the events to come. But they weren't. They stood resolute. Determined. Frightened, even. _

_He moved closer to the circle. YED had raised his arms up expelling out his devilish chanting. The sky streaked purple and red. He felt the ground quake. That blinding light that devoured the four was about to occur. _

_Before it did, Sam took one more look at the group of psychics backing up their glorious leader. There was one, a very tall one, at the front, standing directly behind the demon. He moved around to see who it was. His heart felt like it stopped. He stared with absolute horror, in abhorrence. _

_It was him. He stood tall behind the demon with his demon-slaying knife in hand and a nefarious grin on his face. He recognized this grin. It usually occurred when something was going his way, like he knew of the foreboding events to come and liked it. Wanted it. Craved it, so to speak. And it was about to happen. His mind couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. No way could he turn dark side. But there he was, a soldier, ready to do what his leader bid. _

_Something struggled beneath his evil self's foot. He looked down and this time he dropped to his knees. It was his brother, Dean, pleading with him to listen to him, praying that he would find himself once again and fight. His evil self didn't listen. The YED turned to him, nodded. He nodded back, raising the knife. Sam screamed for him to stop just as his evil self brought the knife down for the killer blow. _

He awoke with a start, emitting a small "ah". Instantly his sweat-perforated face fell into his hands. His heart thumped madly and he fought hard to control his radical thoughts. What was that? Was that a vision, like so many he had seen before? Or was it a nightmare? A vision his mind conjured that displayed what he feared all along? Either or, it scared the holy hell out of him. Could he turn so evil, that he would kill his own brother? After everything, was that where his destiny lied? He was soon to be the Yellow-Eyed Demon's first-in-command. Fear, like none he had ever experienced, riddled his body, producing an undulating ripple he couldn't shake.

Whispers diverted his attention away from his wretched thoughts. He looked up gaining a semblance of his surroundings. He was in a room, not like the cabin. It was fortified, the walls made of steel. And it had a musty, salty taste in the air. He guessed the walls were soaked with salt. The cushion he sat on squeaked and he realized he was on a cot, under scratchy blankets. A small table stood next to his cot, the demon dagger and a glass of water residing on it. Okay?

Confusion was a persistent mallet. He remembered the fight with Alex. Towards the end, there it became a guessing game. Someone came to his rescue. That much he knew. He remembered the bloody hand that fell off the bedspread. The insane _popping_ that turned out to be gunshot sounds. He remembered a figure had come in and it wasn't Dean. He couldn't remember who it was. Everything was all so conflicted.

One thing he knew for certain was he had to get out of here, wherever here was, and seek out his captors. That much he figured for himself. Someone found him and brought him here. And if it wasn't Dean, then he was sure he had a fight on his hands. He unfurled the itchy blankets off his legs, placing his bare feet on the freezing cement floor. And that was when he noticed something else.

His leg! It wasn't broken anymore. How the hell did that happen? Plus, there was no pain. Huh? No inhibition. No tight constriction across his chest. Even his heart, after it calmed down from the dream, felt fine. That pervasive feeling of sickness he associated with "rejection" was gone. It was nothing short of a miracle, but alas, he was healed.

In fact, he felt better than ever. He also perceived he was in new clothes: black sweatpants and a new tee. He stood up, relieved to do so. It had been too long where he was incapacitated. Now he had a new vigor. This was better than receiving a 174 score on his LSAT.

The whispers grew louder. They were located outside the door to the room. Listening in, the speakers seemed to be arguing. One of them sounded like Dean's voice. He didn't recognize the other person. It was a woman. Perhaps it was Maddie? No, the person sounded older.

"…I'm telling you, you need to let him see me first." He heard Dean say.

"I'm sure he'd be fine."

"No, he won't. I know it's not your fault for being out of the picture for so long, but trust me on this. I need to break it to Sam first. He won't understand."

What won't he understand? He was a pretty smart guy. It wouldn't take him long to figure it out whatever Dean was talking about. And who the hell was so insistent upon seeing him? His therapist?

Actually, now that he had thought about it, he wouldn't have minded seeing a therapist.

There was a short "fine," and then the door opened with his brother walking in cautiously. He paused. The short, little eyebrows rose in consternation.

"Oh! You're awake? Did you hear—?" He pointed behind him towards the door.

Sam answered. "I know someone wants to see me. Who's out there?"

"Eh, I'll get to that in a minute." He strolled over and sat on the cot.

Annoyed, Sam blurted, "Dean! Come on!" He sat down on the cot beside him.

"Hear me out. I know you're pretty down in the dumps right now, not having a freaking clue what's going on?"

"Understatement. What is going on? How did we survive Alex's attack? And how the hell am I okay?"

"One question at a time dude."

"Then hurry it up. Who saved us?"

"Well that's the thing…" he scratched his head, dipping it down. He appeared to be having a hard time figuring out how to relay the answers. It was driving Sam crazy.

"How was I healed?"

"Actually, that was a demon who finally got his mojo back—"

"Huh?"

"Just hold on. He's got the magic fingers. Don't worry, he's under a spell so he doesn't pull a _Judas_ on us. He's the one who patched you and Maddie up." At Sam's pressured look, he added, "She's fine by the way."

"Who's out in the hallway?"

"Yeah, that's the one I gotta figure out how to break it to you."

"Just tell me!" He was really aggravated now.

That someone then walked in to the room unbeknownst to Dean's knowledge. The breath caught in Sam's throat and he backed away, alarmed. The person smiled. But he wasn't. Instinctively he went for the knife left on the table, took aim, and threw it.

Mary evaded the slung knife by twisting her head to the side in time. The dagger was flung with such force, it embedded itself into the metallic wall. She returned a small smile, "That's my boy!"

Dean soughed long. "Yeah, Mom's back."

"And so is your father," Mary said, approaching the wall and pulling the dagger out.

Sam looked to his brother in disbelief. All manner of speech escaped him. He had seen pictures of his long-ago dead mother, but never once had he dreamed of finally meeting her. He was out of breath as his eyes flitted between Dean to his mother and back to Dean.

Dean extended out the introduction. "Sam? Meet Mom. Mom? Meet your psychic son….don't kill him."

That certainly wasn't encouraging!

Mary gave her eldest son an annoyed look. "Thank you for that fine assessment. He seems lucid and ready to talk. I think I can take it from here."

"Give it a minute," Dean relayed.

Sam refused to loosely accept the situation. He suddenly appeared as though he was drowning, all the more terrified with his erratic thoughts running amuck. The confusion clouded every sense of judgment and reasoning. He felt trapped. Therefore he couldn't help not freaking out.

"Oh my god. I knew it. I knew it. I knew I was dead. I knew I was dead. There was no way we survived that." That would explain why he felt no pain. Why his leg wasn't broken. He turned to Dean, who his murky reasoning believed was just an apparition of his brother. This was some type of purgatory setting where he met his entire family before the grace of Death claimed them all. It was the only logical standpoint. He said, "I'm so sorry. That guy was too strong. I fought him with everything I had."

"Sammy, listen—"

"There was nothing. I mean, nothing! You could've taken a bazooka and he would have kept on coming. And he was just the first. They're all like that…"

"Sammy. I'm not. We're not….okay!" Next, Dean smacked him upside the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"See?"

"See what?

"You're not dead." He pinched his bicep which elicited a nice yelp.

Sam was still unconvinced. "So that means you're…and you?"

"Uh huh. We're all alive and kicking."

This was all too much. That trapped feeling was like an invasion of a pernicious bug in his mind. He saw the door and leapt up, attempting to make a run for it. Mary caught him by the wrist, and with a grip he wasn't expecting, spun him around. "Hold on there, kitten-kaboodle. Sit!" She tossed him back onto the cot. "Cool your jets kid. We're not the God-fearing vermin that put you in this position."

Sam remained breathless. His mother sat on the other side of him.

"Question on my mind is whatcha planning on doing once you knock us all out and try making a break for it? You can't get very far…not in your condition." She said this carefully, motherly. At his quizzical look, she said, "Your brother told us about your heart."

Sam tensed, wrapping his arms around his torso, feeling insecure. "It's fine. I feel fine. How are you here?"

"Angels. They brought your father and I back. I'll leave it up to your father to explain why."

"Was it Caroline?" Dean asked.

"No."

"Caroline?" Sam questioned, confused. "Who's Caroline?" Dean, then, felt it was time to inform his brother of the sneaky angel who had helped him. He explained how it was she who sought him out at the diner during the first time they were admitted to the hospital; how she was there even during the fire at the Orphanage; how it was she who had talked to him at the park while he went off with Kylie to the bathroom. His mind was racing. However, it all began to make sense why now he had her heart, though he didn't relay this to his brother, or his mother. It was then he made the other connection.

"Was it she who brought you back?" Sam asked Dean, dolefully. His brother's downtrodden gaze answered his question. "I figured Yellow-Eyes was telling the truth. He'd want me to have something else tormenting me while I saw my friends being hacked to pieces."

Dean bit his lip as that last question now caught his mother's attention. He sighed deeply. "Yeah, it's true."

"What's he talking about Dean?"

It must have been the pressure both family members pushed upon him, or it was some deep, anguishing feeling residing on his conscious that he wanted off. Because in that minute, the usually reserved Dean Winchester who kept every emotion to himself, opened and revealed what went down the night he killed himself. He went over every detail where he felt there was no other choice. He told them how he paid a straggler to help him with the delivery, how he put the gun in his mouth, and how the afterlife really was an insensitive bitch. He told them how something brought him back from the dead and he wasn't sure who it was until he and Sam drove out to Oregon to see Caroline's family. After the revelation, he decided to tour the entire country, tracking down the Demon. Anything to give Sam time to recover.

Both Sam and Mary were quiet, listening intently. They both came to the same conclusion: Dean Winchester is one fucked-up individual. And it's going to take years of therapy to overcome this one.

"Dean," his mother began…

"Stop," he raised a hand, "I don't mean to apologize for my actions. I made a decision and went with it. If I had the choice to do it again, I would. Sam, your life is more important than mine—"

"Oh shut up!" protested Sam. His nostrils were flaring. He was angry. "That whole 'I laugh in the face of death' thing is such bullshit! You are such a self-deprecating bastard and it is so freaking annoying! So what? You're the guy who has nothing to lose now? Is that it?"

Dean shrugged, "If the shoe fits."

Mary got up and crossed over to cabinet on the far end of the right side of the room. She pulled out a bottle of **Jose** **Cuervo** and took a mighty swig.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam continued. "What is with all the kamikaze trips man?"

"Oh come on, kamikaze? I'm more like a ninja."

"That's not funny," said both Sam and Mary in unison. Sam turned to his mother and saw she had the same pursed lips, scrunched brow, and teary eye as he. He suppressed the desire to stare, because let's face it: this was the very first time he has ever met his mother. He returned his attention back to his brother.

"How the hell did you expect me to get over that? My brother kills himself so that I would live? Huh?"

"It wouldn't have worked anyway."

"What?"

"Caroline showed me that…my sacrifice…was for nothing. You still died." That, Sam, wasn't expecting. "She brought my ass back and gave me a message that the demon was on the move. She said to protect you at all times, so that was what I decided to do. That became more important than any bullet in my mouth."

"Dean, sweetie…" Mary intervened, with a very fake smile. It was something akin to Sam's smile whenever he was about to unload a verbal lashing. "…we love you, but you're an idiot. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps that's probably what the demon wanted? He's been trying to divide this family up for years."

His brother went quiet.

"I, for one, am glad that Caroline brought you back. We can only get through this as a family. However, whatever you do, don't tell your father. He may not react to this as understanding as I am. I won't lie to you, I'm pissed. But there's nothing we can do about it now."

Dean appeared ashamed, but only for a slight second.

"Now Dean, can you go get your father? We both need to talk to your brother. We'll talk while you keep a lookout." It was no secret, Sam thought. He knew she meant to discuss his certain _psychic_ situation.

"No, whatever you've got to say, you can say it in front of me."

"I understand your imminent need to supervise and guard your brother, and I'm thankful for that. But, I need to talk to my son."

Sam watched Dean with determination. He really wanted to see if his brother would crack under the pressure. To his surprise, Dean relented. His mother had a power over him that he'll probably never understand. His brother stood up, stretched his arms, and walked out the door.

Sam looked at his mother in admiration. She was quite beautiful, even if she looked as though she wanted to pull her eldest son over her knee and give him a good thumping. Then she looked at him. He gulped. Her stare went straight through him. She was all business.

* * *

_Well that could've gone a lot better_ Dean thought sarcastically. He knew the revealing to his self-destructive ways would come out to a heavily armed welcoming. But, at least, he thought, he didn't get shot.

The place the sigil Marco showed his father was a small bunker beneath a foreclosed library on the border of North and South Dakota. Courtesy to a special magic trick provided by John, the building is invisible to passersby, and can go completely undetected by demons and angels…except for those who know where to look. It was where John and Mary holed up right after they were resurrected. It provided a parlor with, at least, three massive couches, along with many cabinets full of books about the paranormal; several rooms with cots, and a small kitchen. The only window it sustained was a tall one located at the entrance, hidden to bystanders. He left out into the hallway and into the parlor room.

John stood by the tall window staring out, keeping vigil. In his hand was a new smart phone. It beeped occasionally. John checked the source every few seconds. Dean approached his dad casually.

"Careful with that thing. If you don't use it right, you might phone E.T. and his buddies." He quipped. John said nothing but continue his reconnaissance, adding to the awkwardness of the moment. Dean shrugged it off. His father was still the same.

"So Mom let slip that it was angels who brought you back, which was a no-brainer. Ya mind saying who?"

No answer, like he was surprised.

"Am I going to get any answer out of you Dad?"

"Soon," said John glancing back at the phone.

"What are you doing anyhow?"

"Waiting."

Again, no surprise there for the short retort. He sighed in irritation. "What are we waiting for? Or who are we waiting for?"

Perhaps it was blind faith that kept him attentive for a small sign that his father would drop the tough, leader in a secretive mission act. But, he had to remind himself, John was exactly that. Apparently the legions of Hell couldn't break him. So how did he suspect that he would do so?

"Nice talk there Old Man," he lightly smacked his arm. "Anyways, Sam's awake and Mom wants to see you pronto…to have the _talk_."

"You take over," was the abrupt reply. He left his position, taking the phone with him.

Dean was flabbergasted. Some welcoming party! This sucked in all shapes, forms, and sizes. His parents were so alienated, so different than they were during his youth. What was going on? Maybe his parents were demons or something else all together? Maybe he should've taken Sam and hit the road like he wanted to, keep low, and to his strengths? He enjoyed the comfort of that thought. He was the only person he could trust. And that felt right.

A large, clattering sound from the kitchen startled him. He swiftly left to discover the perpetrator behind the commotion. It was Maddie. She was struggling with several pots and baking bowls. A couple more bowls fell from her arms. She quickly grasped at them, but failed. The bowls hit the linoleum flooring with a reverberating _clang_. Maddie swore loudly, tears falling from her eyes. Upset, she dropped the rest of the contents which released equally teeth-chattering clangs. She kicked at the few of them.

Dean stepped in the small kitchenette cautiously. "Hey," he said softly.

She didn't respond, instead went over and leaned against the kitchen sink. Mumbling she said, "Sorry."

"Don't be. I can understand you're a little upset."

"A little upset?" Her bloodshot baby blue eyes rested on him, dangerously. "No, this is a little upset," she picked up a few of the fallen bowls and placed them evenly on the counter. "This, however, is me being fucking furious!" She picked up the bowls and tossed them straight at Dean. He ducked just in time.

"Whoa!"

She screeched, "This is a fucking nightmare! They're dead! They're all dead! I need to wake up!" She tossed a toaster to the wall next to a '50s era **Frigidaire**. It burst into several pieces.

Dean was slightly alarmed. "Maddie, calm down."

"Get the hell away from me!" The next to fly was a block of knives. And following after that was an ancient blender that might have been used back in the 1950s. The glass container careened into the wall beside Dean's head. He stepped outside. The girl was causing a scene. He was surprised his family hadn't come to investigate.

"It was you!" she cried, pointing a finger at Dean. "It's all your fault! If you hadn't come into the diner that night, none of this would have happened."

"Oh really?" Dean steeled his resolve and entered the small area once again. "Is that what you really think?"

"Yeah, I do! My mom! My aunt! They're gone. Even that fuck, Alex. My whole family!" She screamed. "Mom! I can't ever talk to her again."

Dean said nothing. He didn't know what to say. His family whom he thought he would never speak to again actually popped out of their graves like daisies.

The distraught girl then went to the wall beside the small fridge and started pummeling her fist into it. Over and over again, non-stop. Dean stood transfixed, unable to comprehend the emotional duress this girl was harboring. He hadn't a clue on how to console. Finally she began to leave some bloody residue, and that prompted him into action.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" he cried in a litany, grabbing the petite girl from behind the waist and pulling her away from the bullseyed target. She struggled, aiming to kick him in the groin. He twisted away, fearing for his tender goods. "Take it easy! Take it easy!"

The spitfire in his arms refused to relent. "Get off me! Get off me!"

"Not until you swallow a large chill pill! Stop it!"

With her struggles, they both fell to the floor, but he clung on, hoping – actually, praying- she'd chill out. She fought hard against his grip for what felt like an eternity. Twenty minutes went by and they were still molded together, Maddie issuing out insulting curses every two seconds. It even amazed him how creative the insults became the longer he held her pinned against her will.

Finally, the girl calmed and he released her. She sidled over and sat against the sink cabinet opposite him, appearing disgruntled. He said, "Cool enough now?"

She didn't respond but glance at him in annoyance.

Dean shrugged. "Wow, we got a little extra saucy today. Anymore tangoing and I'm sure we can make guacamole."

Maddie huffed. "Shut up!"

"Sorry, I can't. It's like a switch that won't turn off, especially when there's a girl who needs a little loving right now."

"This _woman_ doesn't need any loving right now. Just something to smash!"

"Always so feisty?"

She sighed. "No, but I don't have my shotgun, so I can't shoot nothing either. And if I can't shoot something, then I need to do some housekeeping. But obviously this place, wherever it is, is nice and squeaky clean. So I might as well break something."

"We've got guns."

"It won't do anything. I want my gun. And I really want to shoot something right now."

Dean smiled. "We've got a demon you can shoot. He'll make a great practice target. I'm sure he'll let you as long as he takes off his jacket and shoes. They're Gucci."

Maddie snorted with laughter, her puffy face softening. "Yeah, he talked to me a bit."

"Uh oh. What did he say?"

"He tried the cheesiest pick-up line ever, but I put him down gently."

"You're so nice. I would've doused some buckshot in holy water and shoot it in his ass."

"Oh, you're a catch."

"I know," said Dean amusingly. "Where is he by the way? Last I checked he was all Martha Stewart in the livingroom."

"Yeah, he's in the back with the ancient sewing machine, creating curtains."

"Why am I not surprised? Of all things he could be doing?"

"At least one of us has the decorative touch."

"You'd think he'd put those skills in something useful…like maybe darts."

"Darts?"

"Yeah…or actually we can play darts and he can be the target." A daydream popped into his head of Marco stuck up on the wall, upside down, while he and Maddie threw darts. All the while he was screaming to let him take off his shoes and jacket so as not to poke holes in them. He emitted a small chuckle.

"You got that vision too?"

"Yup."

"Same one about not ruining his clothes."

"Yup!" They both laughed. After a few minutes of hurting lungs, and sore bellies, Dean asked, "Still wanting to shoot something?"

"Ask one more time and you're the next target," she said, to which Dean could only just shrug in defense. After she composed herself, she said, "John told me he knew my dad."

Dean's shoulders sagged. "Was he Mr. McGruff when he told you?"

His question puzzled her. "What?"

"Nevermind."

"Oh," she understood, "No, no, he was kind. I kept trying to figure out how possibly those two could have met. My dad was a journalist…and figuring out that demons are after all real…it makes sense. He said my dad helped him with a couple of weird police investigations around the area; found several leads for him and Uncle Blue. I didn't know they all were like a team. He also told me that's how they met. He was looking into a demon visiting my cousin's house. Apparently it's the same demon you guys are dealing with. So basically in some small way, we're all connected."

"Did your dad die in some freak accident?"

She cocked her head to the side, piqued. "No, why?"

"Just asking. I wouldn't put it passed that if your dad was involved, the demon would've taken him out."

"It was three years later after they came to see Alex. My mom needed some orange liqueur for her baking. The store clerk said he had just walked out the door when a guy with a gun came up. Tried to rob him. My dad tried talking to him, but it did no good. Guy shot him without hesitation. All my dad had on him was a twenty. I guess the guy felt it wasn't worth it, because he never took it."

Dean suddenly felt for this girl. "Oh man, Maddie, I'm sorry."

"Took me a while to get over it. And now I'm dealing with this all over again." She looked to him. "I've got no one Dean."

"That's not true."

"And how's that?"

"Because you've got us. We may not be the most functional family in the world, but…at least we don't bite much."

Maddie became emotional again.

"Hey," Dean crab-crawled forward and placed a tender hand on her shoulder. "We'll get through this. Nothing's going to happen to you, I give you my word."

* * *

Dean left the room. Sam meant to tag along, see the mysterio hideout, and sate his furious curiosity as was his main habit. But Sam couldn't. All he could do was stare at his mother. He looked the woman up and down, mentally cataloguing every trait she bore. He knew he was bordering creeper status. But every question he wanted to ask, everything he wanted to say, and never thought for a moment he would have the chance, he realized he could. And there was so much he wanted to say! His mom was alive. She was sitting directly in front of him with a serious expression. However, he remained silent, still staring. Something about her eyes – _his eyes_ – messaged that they were calculating, studying, everything _except_ what Dean told him about her.

Sam could only come to one conclusion: this was the look of a hunter.

Mary reached forward and began grappling at his shirt. He was a little perturbed by it. "Let me see," she said, "Come on, let me see."

He raised his shirt, revealing the horizontal whitish, smooth scar. Mary prodded it, rubbing a soft finger over it, also studying it. The cold stature wore off in her expression. Instead, it was dripping with a mother's concern.

"It's no big deal." Sam said. "It's practically invisible now. Though I wish I could get my tan back. Lookin' a bit pasty these days."

"Tell me Sam," Mary urged. "Are you feeling woozy? Nauseated? Ill at all?"

"Mom, I'm fine now. I'm mean, I got the tar beaten out of me, so I was definitely feeling like crap, but everything's cool. Don't worry. It's Dean I'm worried about."

"Why? He looks fine."

Sam shook his head. "No, he doesn't. He's not looking good at all. He's more than exhausted and he's totally freaking out." At his mother's inquisitive expression, he added, "You wouldn't know. But he typically pushes himself to the point of near-death. He likes to keep things to himself, plan against what anyone else does, because there's only one person he trusts and that's himself. Knowing him, he probably hasn't slept in a week. I just saw him Mom. He's running on steam, about to crash any minute."

"I trust what you're saying. If what you're saying is true, then he's kept it very well hidden. We'll take care of your brother in a minute."

Mary then appeared ashamed, as if disappointed in herself for not noticing. Sam actually appreciated it. It meant she was the real thing; and not some cyborg doppelganger that some mad scientist created. He took a quick observation and read that she was strange. Of all the pictures and stories his brother told him, she was nothing like the person he dreamed about meeting. He couldn't find a shred of warmth, of kindness – like something dark and sinister had taken it all away as part of her resurrection. What he saw was a damaged woman, someone who had taken on a responsibility; a responsibility not of her making – perhaps inheritance –and she was burdened by it. Yet, she kept the inner feelings of injustice to herself and carried on. And what he saw in front of him was the result: a mother trying to piece together the fragments of the life she missed out on and trying to make up for it, and still carry on with her duty. It was rather sad, actually.

"So, I noticed you found my knife," said Mary, picking up the engraved dagger he, a few moments before, threw at her.

Sam's head perked up at the news. Her knife? The demon-killing knife he found in Cold Oak? It was hers?

Mary must have read his face, because she then answered with, "That's right kiddo. It was a gift from my grandfather when I was eight. The exact same you found in Cold Oak."

He was practically salivating for answers now. His watery puppy-dog eyes bade for her to continue.

"I don't know if your father ever mentioned what my parents did for a living. Well, not really much of a living, but it was a very important job on the side...They were hunters, as was I. Reluctantly, I might add. I never cared for that life. It was something I was born into and was a mission I was expected to carry on. It wasn't until after my parents died –by the Yellow-Eyed Demon, I'm sure, and not some freak accident—that I decided to leave it and start a new life."

"You wanted a family?"

She sighed. "More than anything. But not just a family. I wanted a normal life: a life where I don't have to check the salt under the windows each night; make sure the devil traps beneath the rug is still intact; or feel the desperate need to have a gun in the house. I wanted protection. I wanted love. So I gave it up, hoping that feigning innocence would procure the life I wanted so desperately. And I'll tell you, throughout the ups and downs, and sleepless nights –your brother sure was a screamer—it sure as hell beating monster hunting."

"So if you hated it? Then why would you get back into it after coming back to life. Wouldn't you want to start over?"

"I did. But that was until that Yellow-Eyed fuck pinned me to a ceiling and cooked me into a filet mignon, and then went after my kids. At that point, you can't hide behind the wall of denial. The demon has to die, because you'll never be safe. He'll find a way to get to you."

"But if you're a hunter, the night when he came to our house, why wasn't there any protection?"

Mary hesitated. "The sad thing is, Sam, there was. I had to think long and hard after I popped out of the ground what happened that night. How could he have broken through? I privately paid the contractors when they were building the house to install iron instead of steel support bars. There were salt lines at every window every night. John didn't know about it, but I purposely made sure we had the right tools on board. The only thing I can think of was, I remember, for some reason there was a warm spell and the fan had stopped working. So I put up the window. It was real late. The storm outside must've disturbed the salt lines, but it still wouldn't explain how he was able to get past the iron lines."

"For a demon of his caliber Mom, like you said, he would've found a way, and he did."

"I'm sorry Sam, but this never would have happened if my dad hadn't found Cold Oak."

Sam was confused. What did that have to do with anything? "Uhhh…"

"Cold Oak was where I first met the demon. Your grandfather and great-grandfather were stubborn bastards. One day, my granddad, Pops, made the possible discovery of finding the abandoned pioneer village. I was actually getting ready for a school dance and had no interest whatsoever to tag along. But he threatened to bar me from all my school dances if I didn't. That being said the old kook finally found it somewhere in the western part of South Dakota. I can't remember where exactly, because I was rocking out to the _Bee Gees_ the entire way there. Much to my chagrin, we camped out there for three days, following up on some of the local's stories. A few people in the neighboring towns were dying much like the legend. Obviously it was a case. I hated it because it was very hard to find, it was cold, and Dad forced me to haul in the 50 lb. salt bags. It was a special kind of salt that Pops found in Shreveport. Said some hoodoo woman named Phyllis blessed it and it was better than the regular condiment."

"A friend of mine and I found those bags in the storage where Andy found the knife. It actually was strong enough to kill a demon. Totally cool!"

"Hmm, guess Phyllis's handiwork came in handy. Anyway, the trip quickly turned into a nightmare. What we thought originally were some teenagers who disturbed the burial ground, it turned out to be the Demon. He inhabited some rich suit. Stuck out like a sore thumb, so we couldn't miss him. He was standing in front of an abandoned house, his hands raised to the sky, muttering something, like he was preparing the place for some reason…."

_Yeah, the psychic grotesque death match_, Sam thought.

"….Pops shot at him first. But he might have been shooting at a freight train. It was weird; the demon turned and just stared with that creepy ass grin he likes, taking Pops hits. It was like he was happy to see us. He didn't speak, just smiled. Both my dad and Pops went after him, throwing holy water at him, calling out the Key of Solomon exorcism, or anything else we could think of."

"Let me guess, it didn't do anything?"

"Nope! He just laughed it off. I saw how scared my dad became. That was something I'd never thought I'd see. Pops, unfortunately, continued to fight. It wasn't long before the Demon gained the upper hand and broke Pops neck. That drove my dad to the brink of insanity. All I can remember was how scared I was. But it wasn't because my dad was releasing the entire arsenal we packed, it was what happened at the moment that thing killed Pops. I heard it: a terrible roar. Then the wind picked up and it was so, so cold. Thinking back, I finally realize that's what he wanted. He needed an initial sacrifice, one of an enemy, to start the proceedings of things. And then afterwards, he would seek out children he selected to grow up into monsters."

At the word "monsters", a dark, insecure presence invaded Sam's mind. He refrained from saying anything, especially about his dream, eager for his mother to carry on. It was now he was getting some answers as to why the YED chose him.

"The YED got tired of being shot at, and so he attacked my dad and put him into a choke hold. Nearly killed him. It was then I saw my opportunity to strike. I knew I had a special kind of knife, and so I leapt forward and dug it into his back. I thought it worked because he dropped my dad. But he turned his head toward me, still grinning. I retracted my knife and stood ready. At that moment, I was pretty sure I was going to die. He placed a hand on my chest and sent me flying." It was like he was stabbing her through the heart, this visit down memory lane was rather debilitating for her. "I landed by that shed. I got up and he was right there. I went for the shed, because that salt in there was my only leverage.

"He tripped me up and dragged me back through the dirt. I took my knife and swung it at him as fast as I could. I didn't want to die, so I knew I had to fight. That was until he used that telekinetic mumbo jumbo and threw my knife into the shed, locking it tight. I knew I was done for then. He appeared behind me, grabbed my hair, and yanked my head back. Then he started to smell me."

"He what?"

"Like a dog. He sniffed at me all over. It was the grossest thing I have ever dealt with in my entire life, and that includes Dean's dirty diapers."

"Not mine, either."

"By far, your brother's was the worst. Anyway, after the sniff fest, he came back around in front of me, took up my hand. I was so scared, I couldn't move. And then he kissed it, like something from a Nickelodeon skit, and smiled. He told me, "You have a lovely scent, and I admire your passion." It still gives me the heebie jeebies. Afterwards he disappeared, just like that. Poof! But I remember the look he gave me before he left. It said 'he'll see me again soon.' I should've known that he had me marked."

"Marked for what?"

She peered at him apologetically. "Like fucking Rumpelstiltskin, he wanted my kid. His idea of torment would be to use a hunter's child for his plan."

Sam had an idea of what that plan might entail. Through his visions, it looked like YED was trying to release something. What, he hadn't a single clue. As to what purpose the demon had in store for him and the other psychics, he didn't know that either. "Any idea of what that plan might be?" he asked.

"That's what we've got to talk to you about," a gruff voice answered. There, standing in the doorway (what the hell? He never heard the squeaky thing open!), was his father. Sam was stunned. Mary had mentioned that he was brought back, but it was entirely different to actually see it. He stood up, alarmed.

"Take it easy Sam."

"Dad? I…."

Suddenly in the background, they heard shouts and banging instruments. All three Winchesters listened in.

"Ah," John said. "Must be Maddie. Still has that temper. Hopefully Dean will put on that man-charm he liked so much as a teenager and calm her down." He approached carefully.

Sam was breathless. There was something he had wanted to do for so long, and now was his chance. He didn't miss out. He practically ran to his father and pulled him into an enormous bear hug. The man barely hugged back. Sam hesitated at first, but then worked up the courage to say, "Dad, I'm sorry. All this time. For all those years. I just want to say to you I understand."

"Understand?" He sounded confused.

"Yeah, I understand everything now. The constant traveling around the country, the never ending motel stays. I get it now. I do, and I want to say I'm sorry for the arguments, for the yelling, for—"

"Sam," John interrupted him. "It's okay. It is, really. But we need to talk. So have a seat, okay?"

Mary now stood and sidled next to her husband. They appeared like they were the jury for an unexpected trial. He went back to the cot and prepared for what was so urgent. And it was so obvious. They were hunters, and he was a psychic.

So in a way, this was his trial…and perhaps pending execution. That dark, insecure feeling began to escalate again, only this time it was morphing into unadulterated fear. Never in his life did think he would fear his parents. And he knew he had every reason to fear them. Something deep inside him really longed for his brother to be with him at this moment. Where the hell was he?

* * *

Dean was helping Maddie pick up the rest of the kitchenware when he heard the familiar jingle of bells. The air was filled with a static energy. Dean's instincts located the pulsing friction somewhere in the living room. He ran out, gun out and at the ready.

~o()o~

Maddie intended to follow him. However, she hadn't seen the shadow loom behind her. She was struck with an eviscerating cold and stopped at the door. Looking around, she saw nothing. The cold struck again and she saw her breath. "What the hell?"

Suddenly she felt an invading sense overtake her. She convulsed, the iciness spreading everywhere. It was hard to think, to breathe. She fell to the ground, convulsing. The feeling coursed its way throughout her body, she couldn't fight it. She tried crawling away, that same force dragged her back. She tried to scream, her voice died in her throat. The shadow came down upon her. It was choking her.

~o()o~

Dean ran in, confronting Caroline who looked far worse than wear. Bloody splotches adorned both sides of her head; patches of dried blood matted her short hair. Dirt covered her from head to toe. Her status intrigued him. The thought never actually occurred to him that angels could get tired and worn out. She took a seat on one of the couchs, lowering her head down in between her legs.

"Caroline, you okay?"

"Do I look all right to you?"

"Sorry, I was just asking. How'd you get past the sigils we laid down?"

She looked to him as if saying "really?" "Who do you think gave your father the sigils in the first place? Did you really think I'd give something to make it where I can't get in?"

"Again, sorry I asked." He replaced his weapon in the waistband of his jeans. "How's it going out there?"

The angel released a long, anguished moan.

"Gotcha."

Caroline peeked up. "Where is everybody?"

Dean didn't know how to fully answer that. He just settled with, "Here."

"I see. Well, I need to talk to everyone. We're getting hammered out there. I think it's time to come up with a new strategy. So I need everyone here and accounted for."

"Including me," piped, the gut-roiling hemorrhoid of a demon, Marco. He appeared next to Dean, with a big, happy grin on his face.

Dean barely had time to think. Caroline's eyes blazed a bright lilac and in the next microsecond, she had Marco pinned against the right wall with an ivory blade to his throat. Her eyes relayed that she had every intention to kill.

"Caroline, what the hell?" Dean screamed.

Marco grimaced, and said in mock-laughter, "Told you bro she was aboard the PMS boat."

"Who are you?" Caroline bellowed. She inched the knife across his throat. "You're no demon. You're no devil conjured up from Hell. So who are you?"

"What is going on?" John, Mary, and Sam all entered the room and formed an audience.

The angel paid them no heed. She continued to stare dangerously at the demon. "I'll ask you one more time, and then I'm redecorating."

"Can I at least take my jacket off first? I just got it dry-cleaned."

Caroline appeared angry, and definitely not willing to relent. Dean stepped forward, "Marco, is it true?" The demon's lips pursed, which meant it was true. "Go on, tell her."

He smiled. "Congratulations my lady. Not only have you proven to be a valuable asset to our side, but a very own Sophie Neveu as well."

"Shut your trap and tell me who you are."

"Sorry. I just love how frazzled you get. It's almost like a turn-on." The knife pressed into his throat. "Okay, okay, okay! I shouldn't keep you waiting…..you've heard of our first-in-command, Michael, yes?"

"Our leader, yes."

"Ah! Then you've heard of my brother. I'm, let's just say, our father's left-hand man."

Caroline's eyes then popped open and she backed away as though she were statically shocked. She gasped. "Gabriel?"

Marco then shrugged, "Bingo!"

Dean coughed. "No fucking way!"

* * *

**Ah, a new revelation. Well, that's it for now folks. I promise there is more to come...hell! Lots more to come! However, I can't promise that it'll be a speedy update. I'll do my best. Till next time, though, cheers!**

**Joby ;p**


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